


This Must Be the Place

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Hatchetfield Happies [6]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Another trip into Emma and Paul have nightmares abt the multiverse, Awkward Romance, BECAUSE THEIR ROMANCE IS AWKWARD, Blood and Gore, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Paulkins - Freeform, Weddings, but I promise it will end in fluff, except Jane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: Paul and Emma are getting married in three days. They're both all in and ready to go, but Emma keeps having these nightmares about things that have never happened. About both of them getting hurt or being hurt. About the nightmares coming out of the ground and skeletons coming out of their closets. But the fact of the matter is, they are inevitable and can and will weather any storm that comes their way.A continuation of Merry & Bright
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Hatchetfield Happies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699126
Comments: 201
Kudos: 49





	1. Black Flowers Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so here we are. I know Merry & Bright was supposed to be a small one off thing, but we all say Nightmare Time ep. 2. I couldn't leave them alone. I HAD TO GIVE THEM AN ANGSTY FLUFFY WEDDING. Now it will get dark in this bad boy, but I promise this will all end up okay. I can't let them be unhappy.
> 
> Also you in no way have to read Merry & Bright to enjoy this, but I have been building a bit of my own lore and it's mentioned a bit in the first story.
> 
> A little content warning here: there is mention of blood and core in this, so if that isn't your thing, please proceed with caution!

Emma had been having the dream again. 

The one where everything was dark at first. The sort of dark that could swallow someone whole. The kind of dark that sat in the pit of the belly of the beast. Black. Lonesome. Deathly quiet. She knew she was alone. She always was, but that was the way it went. At the end of the day, people ended up alone. Born alone. Died alone. That was how it was supposed to be, so why did this overwhelming darkness terrify her so much? Had she grown so soft that she forgot how shit went? She would work. She would pay taxes. And then she would fucking die just like everyone else. So why even fear the inevitable?

Then there would be a scream. Blood curdling. A woman. Somewhere in the distance. No, somewhere close. Then another. A man this time. Just as ear shattering. A child followed. Shrieking. Something she would have imagined breaking glass if this had been a cartoon. It wasn't, though. She balled her hands into fists only to feel something sticky and warm coating them. When she lifted her palms up to her face, she could suddenly see as if it were bright as day.

Red. Coated in a deep red. Blood.

She screamed, squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to wake herself up. However, when she opened them again, she wasn't back in her bed. She never was. The room was bright and open. Stained glass windows. She was back in the museum, where Paul ended up taking them on one of their first proper dates. The main hall was decorated with various red, white, and black flowers. Black flowers that almost appeared to drip from the bouquets they were in. As if they had bloomed from tar. Chairs lined in two separate groups before the grand staircase. They were filled with various people from the past and present. Tom. Bill. Ted. Zoey. Melissa. Charlotte. Each one sat facing the staircase but focused on the display at the edge of the bottom most stair. Hidgens, adorning his finest black suit, held a decorative folder in front of him, smiling from ear to ear. He waved at her.

More distressing was the couple standing before him. Paul stood tall and lean in a tuxedo. He was glowing with happiness down at another figure, whose hands he held gingerly in his own. It was her. All dressed in white. Jane’s dress. Tom had offered it to her at one point or another, at which she politely declined. Simple. Strapless. Curving right above her chest and dipping down a little lower at her back. A lace bow delicately tied at her lower back. A modest train trailing behind her. The scene itself wasn’t one that should distress her, but she knew better. She had been there before. “No,” she whispered to herself. Heads in the crowd turned to her. The Mayberrys had all materialized in a row. Scalps had been mangled. Split by some terrible force. Dried crusted blood stained their faces. Eyes stared pale and milky in her direction. A fly lands on Lisa Mayberry’s split lip and lingers for a moment. At the other side of the crowd another figure turns. “No, no, no,” she continued to mutter. 

The face stared at her with nothing behind the warm brown eyes. Glass glittered like jewels in matted curly hair. The woman’s neck was turned at an inhuman angle. Like the Mayberrys, blood trickled down the woman’s arm, staining her white sweater and then dripping down her bare arm where the sweater had been ripped. Wedding and engagement rings were smudged with red beneath a stub where the rest of a finger should have been. “Come on, Peanut,” Jane’s voice left the mangled face, marred with bits of glass and shards of metal. “The show--”

“--must go on!” Hidgens’s voice melded with her sister’s, coming together in a terrifying cacophony of sound. Like a demon clawing its way out of the pits of hell. Something in her chest clenched. The tall ceilings and stone laid walls felt like they were coming in around her. Crumbling down and burying her amidst the rubble. Honestly, that would have been a relief compared to the nightmare going on in front of her.

The Paul and Emma at the end of the aisle stared at her. His eyes stared out blank and empty. A serene smile was perched on his closed lips. Shoulders were back and squared as best they could. This was not the Paul she knew. He would have been an absolute emotional wreck standing there about to be married to her. Tears. Beaming tooth filled grins. The sleeve of his black tux rode up slightly, and she could just barely make out the lining of some sort of tattoo. This was not her Paul. Her eyes shifted carefully to the person posing as her. Another soft close-lipped smile faced her, but this one was easier to peg as not being  _ quite _ right. There was something tight and almost restful about her face. Like she hadn’t been up for days on end trying to put something nice together for this ceremony. Like she hadn’t been having nightmares for weeks leading up to it. Like she hadn’t had a sense of guilt hanging over her about a sister who she barely knew as an adult before it was too late. She looked almost  _ supernatural. _ As though she were some artificial or otherworldly being.

And from a distance, she was almost sure that one of her eyes was a pale glowing blue.

Music began to play loudly around her all of a sudden. The walls came tumbling down. Glass shattered, high pitched in her ears. Everything hurt around her. Her leg began to throb. The Paul at the edge of the aisle dropped the Emma’s hands and turned with eyes closed to face her. She stumbled backward as the guests all began to stand up and turn in her direction as well. Paul’s eyes opened, an unnatural glowing blue stared out at her. In fact,  _ everyone _ had the same eerie eyes. The music had wrapped itself around her throat. Jane came lurching through the crowd, neck still bent, eyes blinking blue like a broken neon sign. “It won’t hurt too bad, Emmy,” she giggled, pushing between Bill and his new girlfriend. “It’ll be over soon if you just let us in.” She continued backward away from this horrifying image of Jane. The Mayberry kids climbed between guests on their side, smudging red all over the clothes of the stone still guests around them. Milky white eyes and fingers turning blue, they crawled forward like something out of a horror movie. She had never been a god fearing woman, but she was really wishing she had some fucking holy water on her in that moment. “Why don’t you come play?” She shook her head, moving backward until she hit away. Head snapping away from them, she looked around for any sort of exit. The large wooden doors had disappeared from the old building. She was trapped. “Well, if you won’t play with us, what about  _ him?” _

The voice had gone from her sister’s soft melodic droll to an inhuman growl. Jane, or what was left of her, stood behind Tim with her hands clamped around his shoulders. He stared out at her without the brown eyes she knew. The ones he got from his mother. The ones she had herself. In fact, there were no eyes staring out at all. Just darkness looking out at her, threatening to suck her right in. Her eyes darted away, willing to look at anything. Just not that. Although, there wasn’t much she would have been better off looking at. Ahead of her, that Paul had crept closer, moving in rhythm with the music. Once again, she knew this wasn’t her Paul. He wouldn’t have been caught dead doing anything to the beat of music in front of people willingly and/or sober. Disturbingly, a hoard of similarly creepy Pauls had appeared behind him, marching in time with him. A matching eerie smile crossed all of their faces. “Emma,” the Paul in front muttered, almost singing she thought. “I’m  _ sorry.” _ He  _ was _ singing. Who the fuck was this douche, and what did he do with Paul?  _ “You lost.” _

A hand landed on her ankle, fingers wrapping around it completely. She jumped and stared down, trying to hold back the choked sob when she looked. “Em,” Paul, the right one she knew right away, croaked up at her. He laid out on the ground. His t-shirt was covered in red. Blood was smattered on the floor below him and along his neck and jaw. A bloody fingerprint was smudged on his glasses, like he had just been about to get into bed when he had gotten jumped by someone. His eyes were wide and terrified. Pleading with her to do something. “Help.” His voice was garbled. Maroon dripped from his lips and fell onto the tiled floor with an audible plop. “Please.”

Her eyes squeezed shut once more and jolted upward. When she opened them this time around, it was dark again, but there was a soft rustling of leaves in the wind. Moonlight leaked softly through the curtains on the windows at the far side of the room. The mattress creaked beside her with movement. “Hey,” a voice called out in the dark. Light flooded the room after a small click of a switch on a lamp sounded. Next to her, Paul reached onto his nightstand to grab his glasses. With one eye closed at the sudden light, he squinted up at her. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. “Are you okay?” An arm reached out to her, but she grabbed it before he could touch her. Her hands gripped onto it tightly, turning it over so she could inspect the inside of his forearm. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

She muttered something about making sure he was  _ really _ himself. Her breath was heaving in her chest. Everything still felt tight around her. Like she was enclosed in some sort of box. She felt as though she was in some sort of tank that her nightmares were peering in on. A spectacle on display for them to taunt, tapping endlessly on the glass of her subconscious. “Emma, hey,” he interjected, grabbing her wrist with his free hand. She looked up at him. He looked as tired as she felt, which made sense. It  _ was _ the middle of the night. Her heart continued to beat in a frenzy against her ribs. She shook her head, returning to the search of his arm. The free hand landed on her cheek. “Look at me.” 

So she did. It had to be him. If it wasn’t, he was a damn convincing replacement. The eyes that shined so bright all those days coming into Beanies looked up at her. The same set that buzzed with anxiety every time he got put on the spot in social situations. The same ones that always caught her eye across a room. The same exact eyes that came into her shop at least twice a week, waiting for her to close up, so they could go home together. That would watch her with such kindness and care that she didn’t know what to do at first. She felt her chin tremble. What the fuck was she doing? She was awake and terrorising Paul in the middle of the night. What in the  _ hell _ was her issue? “You’re okay,” he assured her, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “You’re here. You’re okay, Em.”

Her entire composition began to crumble. A lump rose in her throat. “What the fuck?” she breathed, releasing his arm from her grasp. Her hands were shaking. “What the  _ fuck?” _ Warm tears rolled down her cheeks. She wasn’t entirely sure it was because she was upset or if she was relieved. It was the worst dream she had since she was a kid. Horrifying and filled with things just familiar enough to turn her crazy when she finally did wake up. “Paul, I’m sorry. I have no fucking clue--” Before she could finish, he sat up and had his arms wrapped around her. He was warm, comfortable to fall into. Safe and normal. At first, it made her nervous to feel so at ease with someone she barely knew. Hell, she found herself staying with him the night after their first date while she was pretty drunk and about to be snowed in. She kept calling him after those couple days stuck in his house. Day after day, she kept coming back because something felt right. Something in fucking  _ Hatchetfield _ of all fucking places felt right. “It was that fucking… thing with the wedding in the museum. Jane was there this time and she… then you were… I don’t know.  _ Fucked  _ up? And fucking dying. And Tim… god, fucking  _ Hidgens _ was the most goddamn normal thing going on there.”

He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Well, I can’t say I’m not fucked up.” She scoffed mostly because he didn’t understand but in part because it legitimately made her laugh. “And I don’t know too much about anything else that was going on there. It’s kind of out of my wheelhouse,  _ but _ I do know that we’re not getting married in the museum. Can you imagine how  _ expensive _ that would be? Good god.” Yeah, this was definitely the real Paul. He pulled away from her to look down at her, fingers brushing a stray curl away from her forehead. “We  _ are _ going to get married out by the lake in three days.” She smiled. Starry Cove. They both used to go there as kids, as she found out. Likely, they had ever been there at the same time. The soft smile on his face twisted into a frown. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to--”

“No, Paul,” she sighed, patting his side. “I want to.” She held onto his wrist. There was something grounding about him holding her there. Even at times when she was simply touching his shoulder or his back in passing while they were out, she felt a little bit more at ease. Like he was an anchor keeping her head out of the clouds. “We wouldn’t have gotten this close if I didn’t want to fucking marry you.” A smile found its way to her lips as she sniffled. “It’s  _ you _ who’s the yes man. Not me. You know I won’t fucking ‘yes’ you just to spare your feelings.”

He knocked his forehead against hers with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, bringing his other hand up to her other cheek. “I love you for that.” Their lips met without further discussion. Gentle in the night. Nothing ulterior behind it. Just a silent declaration of being present in that moment. In every moment despite the dreams. Despite the past. Despite the skeletons that lived in infamy in their respective closets. He loved her regardless of all the shitty things she had done. All the times she had run away instead of addressing things. He loved her even after knowing those things. He just loved her. Full stop.

She broke away from him, brushing her nose up against his. His breath tickled her face. “Also my ass,” she added. Both of their eyes shot open. A smirk tugged up at the corner of her lips. Her heart had begun to beat more quietly in her chest again. He had that effect on her. “You also love me for my ass.”

“Oh my god,” he groaned while pulling away from her to reach behind him and turn his bedside lamp off again. Once it was dark again, he moved to bring them both back to lying down against their pillows. Almost as if it were choreographed, they moved in tandem to lay in a comfortable formation. One of his arms was between her side and the mattress, wrapping around, so his hand was buried in her hair. The other held her pressed against him. She curled into his chest, one of her own arms snaking around his back. Fingers trailed down his spine. They were a couple of puzzle pieces finally finishing the picture. “But, yes, I do love your ass.”

A genuine laugh left her. The dread in the pit of her stomach was fading. She almost couldn’t remember the exact details of her dream, as was the case most of the time. All she really knew was that it was the same place every time. Once it was happening, it was all familiar, but after being awake long enough, it was a faded memory. “You and me, kid,” she whispered, lips kissing his chest through the material of his t-shirt.

“Taking on the world,” he finished, running his fingers through her hair. Her eyes slid shut once more. His arms were like some sort of armor around her that almost felt like they could protect her from the nightmares. Realistically, she knew they couldn’t do that, but it made it a little easier to think they might have that power. 

She heard him mumble something else to her sleepily while she was beginning to doze off herself. Most nights she had the nightmare, she didn’t want him up. On particularly bad nights, though, he would wake up in just as much of a panic as her. Sometimes, she wondered if he was having them too. If he was really there with her in the pandemonium, bleeding and scared. He did have the tendency to occasionally whimper in his sleep. To mutter her name sadly. She made a note herself to ask him about it in the morning. She usually did, but just like the dreams, the thought was gone by the morning.

Life went on.

Things were good.

And in three days time, they would be married.

She smiled into his t-shirt as sleep came over her, quiet and deep, straight through to the morning.


	2. Run Away, Go Find a Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has a new line of work but Zoey is still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. I AM HAVING A GOOD TIME.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and enjoying. I swear to god I'm going to catch up on comments at some point. I promise!

Emma blinked at the arrangements of flowers in front of her. Irises. Hellebores. Blood red Amaryllis. Deep burgundy orchids. Intermittent feverfew daisies. A menagerie of flowers from all seasons in the year put together. Centerpieces and bouquets. Boutonnières and various arrangements to be festooned on walls and seats. She had spent a lot of nights scribbling into notebooks what she wanted to include in the florals. How she wanted them placed. How everything was supposed to look. The whole wedding planning thing wasn’t really for her, but she had discovered that she did like flowers. It was an interest she developed in college. How they grew. When they did. The strange hold they seemed to have over people. How one simple bouquet could change a person’s entire day. 

Taking over the flower shop downtown had happened at Paul’s insistence. It was expensive. She didn’t know how to run a business, and the retiring owner was likely going to be of little help. But he had insisted. He was sure she would be able to do it. That she would like being her own boss especially. She was smart and capable and driven, or so he and Melissa both kept insisting. _“It’s an investment,”_ he had replied when she said it was a lot of money to be shelling out. A lot of money she didn’t have. She almost decked him in the face when he offered to help. _“I’m not doing it out of pity, Emma. I’m doing it because I think you’re going to make it back.”_ As it turned out, Hatchetfield was a relatively popular destination for two types of events: weddings and funerals. Weddings for the vast woods and beautiful beaches. Funerals because people never seemed to fucking leave the island, and they had to die some time. 

The inside of the old flower shop had been a little run down when she first walked through as its owner and really got a good look at it. As an employee, she couldn't have cared less about the state of the place, but being in charge, she had to give a little bit more of a shit. She and Paul spent an entire weekend stripping the walls of old wallpaper and laying down fresh coats of light blue paint. They sat on the floor to eat their meals. Cross legged and digging into sandwiches or prodding at Chinese food with chopsticks. She could clearly picture him there in the dim incandescent light. A smudge of paint just above his eyebrow. Smiling as he talked about something that happened during the week. She laughed at whatever he had said. What it was, she couldn’t quite recall, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and the light in his eyes were still clear in her mind.

She was good at being in charge, as everyone had guessed she would be. Delegating seemed to come naturally to her, though she did have the tendency to just do things herself when there wasn’t enough help. “You good?” She looked over her shoulder to a jaw smacking with gum. When she had first been hiring, a few high school kids were chomping at the bit to get some part time work, but really, she wanted a person or two to come on with shifts a little more reasonable than she could give to a minor. Who came knocking down her door other than the theater queen herself? When Zoey applied to work for her, it came as a shock, and she nearly tossed the application right into the trash. Paul, however, suggested she give the girl a chance. She had been good with customers when she actually gave a fuck, and there was no coffee for her to spit into. 

Zoey had surprisingly proven herself to be a fairly competent worker when she didn’t have half a dozen of her theater friends working in a stupid coffee shop where all their other buddies came into on the regular. She was good at keeping the shop tidy and getting the books all balanced out at the end of the night. On the rare occasion Emma wasn’t around, she managed to keep everything afloat with little to no reaching out. “Hmm?” Emma hummed in response, glancing between Zoey and the flowers. “Oh yeah. Fine.” In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability or drunken honesty, she might have even said Zoey had become a friend. Mostly because the girl she thought was ten years younger than she was happened to be about half that in reality. Chasing a dream that she still had yet to give up on despite every sign the universe was giving her to just give it a rest, and for that, Emma had to respect her just a little bit. “It feels a little… weird. That’s all.”

Zoey cracked her gum with a shrug. “That you’re getting married?” she wondered. “Or that you’re marrying that fucking dude who came and drank that garbage fucking coffee for so long? Because they’re both kind of weird honestly.” They usually picked up Starbucks if either of them went for coffee runs. In fact, Zoey took a long sip from the straw in her iridescent Starbucks tumbler. Emma made a note in her mind to give her shit later for not bringing something for her. “You still want me running those over Saturday morning?” Zoey jutted her chin out in the direction of the two bouquets in front of Emma.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” It was unlike Emma to really care about what Zoey would or wouldn’t mind doing. She was the boss after all. If she asked her employees to help run arrangements at a wedding, it wasn’t if they wanted to do so. It was more of a her telling them what they were going to do sort of thing. She did have to admit to herself it felt a little odd having Zoey do it with her being a guest and all, but there wasn’t really any other person in the shop she’d trust to bring them over carefully enough. Another strange feeling she had toward the young woman as time had gone on: that she was someone reliable. A friend even.

Zoey shrugged again. “Yeah, I mean I’ve got the Jeep. It might take a second trip, but I think everything should make it one piece,” she appraised, one hand landing on her hip. She pursed her lips. “Maybe even three, but the cove isn’t that far from here. I think it’ll be fine.” Zoey, Emma had learned, was not from Hatchetfield but a transplant after attending college locally. One night at the bar, Zoey had admitted she stayed local because friends had told her about theatrical opportunities that had never presented themselves. Now, she didn’t seem to be able to leave. _“Might as well not have to serve shitty coffee at five in the fucking morning. Plus people coming into a flower shop are a hell of a lot nicer.”_ A few years ago, Emma would have been absolutely floored to think that she would like Zoey even a fraction how much she liked her now. A smirk found its way over her face as Zoey debated how many trips back and forth it would take to get all the flowers from the shop to Starry Cove. “Don’t look now. Your blushing fucking groom is coming in hot.”

On cue, the bell on the front door jingled upon someone entering. Emma turned her attention from Zoey to whoever had walked in. Paul stood just in the entrance. His jacket was slung over his arm. A little bit of color had found its way into his everyday wardrobe. A navy blue suit. A grey one. Some variation from the usual brown or black suits. The one he wore today was a slate grey paired with a deep eggplant colored tie. One she had picked out because she thought the color was fun even though he was insistent he would never wear it. “Hey,” he greeted without breaking his eyes away from her. Like she was the only person in the room. Like she was the exact person he was looking for in a crowded room. She leaned over the counter with a grin blooming across her lips. That morning she had passed him by as he brushed his teeth, a hand planting firmly on his butt. _“That’s a fine ass in those pants, black coffee guy.”_ She chuckled when his eyebrows raised in the mirror.

“Well, this is gross,” Zoey interrupted before he could get another word in. She raised her hands up even the one holding her cup. “You guys are gross, and I’m going to go.” She looked at Emma. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven, boss lady. For now, though, I’m going home and spending some quality time with my best boy, Jack Daniels.” She ducked under the door that lifted to allow entrance to behind the counter. As she passed Paul at the front door, she nodded in acknowledgement at him. “Mr. Boss lady, I will see you on Saturday. Say hi to the cat for me, and make sure you tell your creepy friend to stop hitting on me. I’m not interested.”

“Zoey, I keep telling him, but he won’t listen,” he insisted. A bag that was in his hand rustled as he attempted to talk with said hand for emphasis. “He’s an ass.”

“Mhm, but he’s _your_ ass,” she reminded him with her own hand resting on the door. “He’s your ass who keeps being a fucking creep.”

He shook his head adamantly. “ _That--”_ He jabbed a finger out in Emma’s direction, “--is _my_ ass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma cut in, causing both of them to turn her way. “I am nobody’s ass, nerd. Least of all yours.”

His eyes closed, and he let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, well,” he began. His other hand reached up and ran over his face. “She’s her _own_ ass, but I am heavily associated with said ass. _Ted_ isn’t my ass.”

Zoey arched a brow. “I’ll say,” she finally agreed. “Yours is much better looking than him.” Whether she was talking about Emma or his actual ass, he couldn’t be sure, and Emma was well aware of that. Red ran hot across his cheeks. Eyebrows shot up in surprise. Confusion, too, probably.

“Get out of here, you shit,” Emma groaned with a chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Zoey let off a small salute with her coffee hand before bounding out of the shop, being sure to turn the sign to closed as she did so. The grin was still on Emma’s face when Paul turned to face her with a bewildered expression. “I told you that you had an objectively nice ass.” She pointed at him, propping herself up on the counter with her elbows. “You didn’t believe me.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “That was weird,” he muttered. “This whole… _Zoey_ thing is still weird.” He shook his head. Sometimes the way he acted was as though they hadn’t lived together for nearly four years. As if she didn’t text him on and off all day with stupid funny things she would find on the internet. As if they didn’t know each other. As if they weren’t about to be fucking married in two days. But then that smile found his lips, and she found herself melting. “But hey.”

She returned his smile. “Hey yourself,” she replied. Sometimes she felt as though this were the dream, which felt crueler than the nightmares she had been plagued with on and off for as long as she could remember. If she were to wake up some time before all this happened, before things had taken off, she wasn’t sure what she would do with herself. If she woke up one morning back in Guatemala, she wouldn’t even know how to proceed. The idea of it made her guts twist up with anxiety. For once, she was comfortable in her life. The fact that she had that in Hatchetfield was a different issue in her mind. The commitment had come easy enough. He had been less like a ball and chain and more like a gentle hand holding onto her for as long as she would let him. Having found something like that in the place she hated most brought up conflicting thoughts in her mind. On one hand, she would have given anything to be anywhere but Hatchetfield at any given time. On the other hand, the parts of the town that bothered her before seemed to matter less and less. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh!” He lifted it slightly. His jacket hit against the brown paper. “Dinner.” The bag fell again beside him. He frowned. “You didn’t bring lunch with you again. I figured sushi might be a good answer.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “Zoey brought pizza with her today.” That was a lie, but she hoped it would appease him enough to quit with the worrying. Things had just been stressful. Trying to get all her shit together before the weekend was proving to be difficult, and she was having trouble focusing on much to begin with. “We ate while we worked _and_ booked some bigass wedding out in February, so it all worked out.” He furrowed his brows, clearly not falling for the entirety of what she was saying. “Paul, I’m _fine._ I promise.”

He closed his eyes again, nodding. “Okay,” he sighed as he moved forward enough to drop the bag on the far end of the counter. “Okay.” His eyes fell onto the bouquets. Fingers reached up to run along the petals of an iris. The worry left his features for just a moment. A small smile touched his lips again. “These look really nice, Em.” She watched a lot of couples come through in the year and change she had been in the shop as the owner. Another year as just a worker behind the counter. So many of them had such sterile outlooks on their weddings. Something to be checked off a list of things they were supposed to do. Going through picking out white roses and calla lilies because that was what people did. Baby’s breath and queen anne’s lace. Looking excited at their magnificent bouquets and floral arrangements, but the joy never quite reached their eyes. She looked up at him examining the bouquets, the pad of his thumb lightly brushing against petals. “Excited to have your Halloween wedding?”

Chuckling, she stood up to straighten out the smaller of the arrangements. “Yeah,” she admitted, eyes dragging up to find him staring right back at her over the flowers. “Never thought I’d actually get my way because I swear to god as a kid--”

“The only way you were going to get married was if it was on Halloween,” he finished as if it were something he had heard time and time again. She was fairly certain she had only mentioned it once or twice before. He just liked to listen to her. Shrugging, he laid his jacket out across the counter. “That was the only stipulation, so there was no other day we were going to be doing this thing.”

“Oh man,” she mumbled, still looking up at him. “You get me.” She wondered how those married couples, who didn’t have their joy touch their eyes, were doing. If they were like this in private or if they just tolerated each other behind closed doors. She thought about her own parents, who definitely enjoyed each other’s company well enough, but never felt like they actually had any sort of love or passion for one another. Her heart felt like it could stop in her chest when he walked into the shop after hours to see if she needed help with anything or during his lunch break just to see her for a brief bit of time. She smiled at that big stupid nerd. “I think I would have been willing to let it slide if you didn’t want to get married on Halloween, though.”

He leaned forward with his palms pressed against the counter. “Oh yeah?” he mused, the lack of lunch seeming to be a thought of the past. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting soft on me, Perkins.”

She shifted the flowers off to the side to create an open space on the counter between them. “I might be,” she concurred, leaning forward herself. “But don’t let that get out. If you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you.”

Both of them leaned in a little closer until his face was hovering just above hers. His breath still smelled like the coffee he no doubt drank prior to leaving work. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he hummed. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke.

Grinning, her hand found his tie yanking him down to her. Their lips met as they did most days. With a quiet explosion. A mild tsunami. A gentle earthquake. “Can’t have you dying on me yet, kid,” she murmured into his mouth. “We’re not married yet, so I can’t cash in on that sweet life insurance.”

“But after we are?” he chuckled, pressing another soft kiss against her lips.

“Don’t worry too much if your food starts tasting weird,” she responded with a laugh. Another smile. Another kiss. She joked, but the thought of anything happening to him caused her chest to tighten. Not being a gambler because it was a waste of time and luck in her opinion, she would be willing to bet that she would take down anyone who even thought about doing anything to him. Down directly into their graves. “Or if your coffee starts looking a little weird.”

“Noted,” he said with a laugh and yet another gentle kiss. If she could have gone back and told a younger Emma Perkins that she would be macking on the paperboy in Hatchetfield in her thirties, that Emma Perkins would have laughed at her and then promptly told her to fuck off. To which she would have told her to just fucking wait until she met Paul. That nerd was going to rock her fucking world. She spent so many years running from god only knows what. Everything she ever had to face. Every fuck up she made. Every person she let down. After running for so long, he felt kind of like the air she had been gasping for. Something stable and good. He pulled away just far enough to look at her again. “Mm, also Ted has _finally_ stopped calling you the crabby barista, and you’re now the crabby flower lady.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Wow, moving up in the world, huh?” she replied, amused by the man child who had known her for a number of years at that point but still refused to strip the label of her job from her. “But what do you think?”

He furrowed his brows once again. “Of what?” he questioned.

“What would be your name for me? Crabby fiance? Crabby lady who lives in my house and sleeps in my bed? That crabby bitch with the cold feet that she sticks right on my legs in the middle of the night?”

His face pinched for a moment at the thought before his expression softened altogether. He met her gaze. That soft blue fire was burning bright in his eyes. She bit back a beaming smile. “I don’t think of you like that at all, Emma,” he told her. Flat out. It had been a long time since people solely described her as crabby. She liked to think she wasn’t anymore. At least not too often. Tough, yes. Miserable and cranky, no.

She felt her own blush coming over her cheeks. One that she hadn’t had since little crushes back in high school. One that had only made itself known again after that night at the bar with him. “Fucking nerd,” she grumbled, pulling his face back down to hers once more. The tip of his nose was cold against her burning cheek. His hand fell against the side of her face, thumb resting just below her jaw. She smiled into the kiss. This was the kind of joy that touched someone’s eyes. Just this. Quiet and real. She had hit the jackpot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also hear me out, guys.
> 
> Zoey buys Paul and Emma a vegan cookbook for their wedding. Zoey was invited to the wedding and potentially was there. No one can tell me that she and Emma aren't at least kind of friends. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.


	3. With You, My Dear, I'm Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma hangs back at work and Paul reads a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooweeeee. I took a hot second of a break there to indulge in a long weekend. But we back y'all. Enjoy!!

When Emma walked in, Paul was sitting at the kitchen island with his brows furrowed in concentration. A smile touched her lips. For his birthday that year, she had finally gotten him a Kindle, which he had been so adamantly against for so long, which was stupid. They had no more room for books in the house. The last time they tried to clear them out he sat with a box of books to donate in the trunk of his car for a month and a half, but he was so sure that the experience wasn’t the same. That reading off of a screen didn’t have the same return as turning the physical pages of a book. 

Plot twist: he had been glued to the thing since she had to force him to set it up.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly after kicking her shoes off at the door. A habit he had drilled into her. The floors did stay much cleaner, and she always knew where her shoes were. However, it was an aggravating thing to get into. A constant reminder of the shoes in the house when some days she just wanted to walk in, plop down on the couch, and toss her shoes in whatever direction they would go in the living room. But time had passed, and she was used to it. That was how all things went, though. She got used to making her own schedule. She got used to not driving to the old apartment complex that was too close to the ancient run down amusement park for comfort. She got used to wearing a ring. She got used to not running anymore.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. After bringing sushi to the shop, they stood against the counter, chatting about their days as they dug into the food. Paul with his chopsticks. Emma with her fingers, like a heathen as Paul noted. She couldn’t use chopsticks to save her life, but really, she only kept using her hands to eat because it drove him nuts. There was something about his face crinkling up with distress that made her laugh. He didn’t have much of a poker face. Not even before she really actually knew him. He could be read like a day-glo orange road work sign. There was so much unpredictability that had plagued everything she did for so long, though, so just a little bit of knowing what was going on in someone’s head felt better than she could ever describe.

Before coming home, she had to dot a few t’s and dot a few i’s down at the shop. Really it was a lot of fussing with flowers that didn’t need anymore fussing with and balancing out books for the day that Zoey had already double checked. “Hey,” he replied, placing the e-reader onto the countertop. He had helped her haul the floral arrangements into the cooler where they would sit for a day longer. Then he headed home after a lengthy discussion trying to convince her to follow him out to no avail. Two hours later, there she was. “Did you make sure to kiss every flower goodbye and remind them you’ll be back on Monday?”

Rolling her eyes, she dumped her jacket onto the edge of the island. “Har dee har, asshole,” she grumbled as she headed to the fridge. Her head felt like it was twisting and turning in each direction. Like her brain was the tornado from  _ the Wizard of Oz _ . Each time the house turned there was something new. Cow. Witch riding a bicycle. Mailbox. Soul crushing anxiety that had to right to be there. She pulled out a beer, which was promptly cracked open. With an arched brow, she stared at him while he watched her intently as she sipped her beer. “What’re you looking at?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You,” he answered simply, bringing a glass of water to his lips. “I’m just glad you didn’t wait until midnight to come home.” The thought of having some sort of home base was still a little strange to her. There was never anything stable and definite before, not even as a kid. Sure, she had her parents’ house at that point, but it never felt like somewhere safe to go. Never somewhere she wanted to be. There wasn’t even any sort of stable support outside of her house growing up. After the tragedy at the Mayberry’s, everyone sort of distanced themselves. She thought for a while that it was because no one knew what to do, but eventually, it hit her that it was her who had pushed everyone out. Then there was Raul in Guatemala. The sweet, albeit aloof, school teacher. She saw him on and off for a number of months. Almost a year when she really thought about the timeline, but even then when things began to become more serious, when he wanted something more than her drifting in and out of his life, she couldn’t do it. The thought of solid ground terrified her, yet there she was. In a home. Her home.  _ Their _ home. She let the lip of the beer can fall from her lips, eyes not moving from his. “You okay?”

Sometimes, she wondered what enticed her to settle down for this absolute noodle of a man. "Yeah, I'm good," she responded with a nod. His brows creased at his forehead. He didn't believe her because somehow he knew her. Even before she fully let him in. Before she was even willing to admit to herself that she loved him. It had always been as though he could read her mind. "What's that look for?" He was usually patient, willing to let her come to him. Leaving the food out on the porch for the feral cat. There was no unnecessary pushing and prodding that went on. He just got her, and that was exactly why she felt comfortable settling down with him. Even if that was happening in Hatchetfield, some things were worth more than a stupid distaste for a dumbass town.

"Emma," he sighed, pushing the stool he was sitting on out and away from the island. "You've been on edge the last three weeks.” The scene was a familiar one, though the roles were usually reversed. He was a serial overthinker. Anything he could fixate on and beat himself up over, he would find it. The anxiety would stew and boil over into intense introversion and near constant fidgeting. On those nights, which were growing to be fewer and fewer as time went on, she would find herself sitting cross legged on the bed, facing him. Hands on his to keep him from picking at the skin on the side of his thumb. Quiet words of comfort, breaking down each thing that was grating on him. Bringing whatever demons were bothering him to light. He crossed the kitchen to stand before her. “What’s going on?”

She considered his question, mulling over what she would say as a response in her head. Did she mention the nervous swirling that was constantly plaguing her gut about  _ settling down _ in Hatchetfield of all places? Was it the hours on end she spent working without turning her brain off once she got home? What would he say if she told him about the dreams? The terrifying images of her friends and family that were long dead. Of Hatchetfield but even more screwed up than it was in real life. Of them at their wedding that was all wrong, that wasn’t even them. Of him battered and bloodied begging for her help. “I’m fine,” she insisted, but he just stared down with more worry than ever flooding his eyes. “Really, Paul. I’m okay.” She rested her hands on his arms. Thumbs ran lightly over the skin left bare after he pushed up the sleeves of his long sleeved t-shirt. “It’s just… a lot. There’s a lot of shit going on right now, and it’s all kind of weird.”

His brows furrowed once more. “Em, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. It was his go-to phrase recently. Any time she got too overwhelmed or started freaking out about the botched weddings in her dreams. He automatically assumed it was him. That he was the cause of all the stress. She supposed that was partly her own doing. Initially, she was so hesitant when things began to move forward. When he asked her to move in, she had realized half of her stuff was already at his house. Even her phone and laptop chargers. It was where she went to wind down after a day in class. Somewhere had become home for the first time in a long time, and she didn’t realize it until he asked her to stay. But boy, did it twist her up inside. She was so terrified of getting stuck in this stupid town that she didn’t give him an answer for a full week. Oh, and when he tried to express that he had fallen in love with her, she might as well have been dancing around with her fingers in her ears. But she was still there, standing just about in his arms. In their kitchen. In their home. 

“Stop,” she groaned, shoving herself against his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around her back. It was second nature at this point. “That’s not what this is about. I’m tired. That sure isn’t going to stop me from making you shit your pants when you see me in that dress.” She craned her neck to rest her chin against his chest and look up at him. His features had softened. There was less anxiousness glowing in his eyes, but the softness remained. The same softness that he always gazed at her with. A shiver ran down her spine like it normally did. No one had ever looked at her quite the way he did. Like she was the most amazing and beautiful display of fireworks he had ever seen. Something between awe and adoration. “That’s right, buddy.  _ You’re _ going to be stuck with me forever.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, eliciting a light laugh from him. 

He brought his hands up to her cheeks and simply held her there for just a moment. She thought a lot about all those days he came in to buy a black coffee from Beanies. Bumbling about whatever dickwad customer had been in front of him. Literally unable to talk about much of anything else. He had been coming in for months. As she stared up at him, she wondered how things would have gone had she made a move sooner. His lips found hers, and she hated to think that this could have happened sooner. That this enormous noodle of a man went riding past her house on his bike and chatted with her dad as he dropped the newspaper off every single day for so long. 

There were always a dozen hypothetical situations running through her mind. Each and every single scenario where she stayed or came home and Jane was still alive. Where she spent years filled with happy memories. Where she had her stupid fucking flower shop and her dumb goober of a boyfriend and her sister was still alive. Everything felt like regret. The deep sort of regret that sat in the pit of her stomach, knowing if she had done things better that everything would be different. A lump rose in her throat that she desperately tried to swallow back down. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes in case of any tears that decided to try and escape.

“Well, the tux isn’t brown, so I really hope there isn’t going to be any pants shitting,” he responded. The correct response to get her out of her head and back into the moment she was in. Standing in the kitchen with some goddamn nerd she was marrying in less than two days.

Her eyes sprang open to find him looking back at her. “Listen, bug eyes,” she started, receiving an eye roll from him. “You’re going to shit your pants so hard it’ll be like someone slipped some fucking Miralax in your coffee. That’s how hot I’m going to look.”

He raised his brows. “Yikes, I guess I shouldn’t have gone for the grey one then, huh?” he mused, thumb grazing over her cheekbone.

Leaning into him, she grinned up at him. “I like the grey one,” she commented, arms snaking around his back. “You looked like a fine piece of ass in that tux.”

“Oh, is that all I am now? A fine piece of ass who shits his pants at the sight of you in a dress?” he challenged with a smile on his face. This was a far different Paul from the one she had gone on a date with years earlier. He wasn’t quite as shy or reserved as he had been. It wasn’t like every little thing she did or said made him blush any longer. A lot did, but she really attributed that to him having the complexion of a very pink powder puff. He played along with her jokes. Maybe not every single time but he did it often and well. He kept up with her, which was yet another thing she had grown to love about him.

“Yep, better get those diapers ready, baby cakes,” she chuckled, breaking her face from his grasp to bury into his chest. There was a hint of the light cologne he wore during the day. Minty with some hint of spice. She inhaled deeply. It smelled like comfort. Like a warm blanket on a cold snowy day. It smelled like home.

He sighed and returned the embrace. One of his hands tangled itself in her hair. “You’re a fucking knucklehead,” he muttered before kissing the top of her head. She laughed into his chest and wound herself tighter around him. Some nights she felt like she was going to wake up and find herself elsewhere. She didn’t have any idea where that might be. It just wasn’t in a life she had found such happiness in. Where she had found herself looking forward to the start of her days. She was surrounded by friends and family. Maybe not in the traditional way, but the people closest to her felt more like family than most of her family did her entire life. 

“ _ Your _ fucking knucklehead, nerd,” she murmured into his shirt. She couldn’t deny the smile on her face as she trailed her fingers along his back. “I’m going to be your contractually bound knucklehead.”

“Hmm, a piece of ass with bowel control issues and a fucking knucklehead,” he said as if he were testing out how the words sounded on his tongue. “What a pair.”

Time ticked onward, and they spent what felt like an eternity down in that kitchen. His arms enveloped her for as long as she wanted to stay there. They quietly talked about the day that was to come. How he was excited to have breakfast with her on a Friday. To spend a whole extra day with her. She reminded him that he had a fuckton of days to spend with her. To which, he responded that he couldn’t wait. For once in her life, it didn’t feel like she was biding her time in one spot. There wasn’t a timer counting down to when she would make her next grand escape. Just a clock on the wall that passed by in its seconds and minutes and hours. Measuring out the time they had spent. Waiting anxiously to continue documenting the time that had yet to happen. 

Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for those endless days either, a strange but welcome feeling for her. A constant feeling of stability. Of safety. Something about him was safe. The life she was building beside him was solid even if the foundation had started out a little wobbly. She loved him, and he loved her back. There were no more reasons to run. This was where she wanted to be: a home for her, at last.


	4. There's No Better Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has another interesting dream and wakes Paul up in the middle of the night again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I just want to give the heads up that there will be a content warning here for some sexy stuff at the latter part of this chapter!

“I can’t believe you invited Becky Barnes, of  _ all _ people, to your wedding.”

The scene was different than it normally was. Emma stood in the kitchen with a mug of coffee. She looked up from her coffee to the island where someone sat who was never supposed to be there. Jane in all her glory gave her a lazy sideways grin. Thick curly hair everywhere. The streak of grey Emma knew she had in store for herself as well had bloomed at Jane’s right temple. It was an image of her sister she hadn’t seen in a long time. She looked normal. Nothing like what she remembered really, but she had been gone for ten years. It made sense that they probably both looked different than the last time they met after a decade had passed.

Emma’s eyes drifted down to her coffee. Steam pooled off and into the air in tiny storm clouds. The room was flooded with light. A little too bright even. Not to say that the kitchen didn’t have adequate lighting because it did. Beautiful wide windows that backed onto their yard. Sunlight poured in at every angle normally, but this light just seemed like someone was shining a set of stadium lights in through the windows. She shrugged. “You always wanted me to give Tom a chance,” she answered, refusing to meet Jane’s stare. “And not for nothing, but Becky’s been… really fucking  _ nice _ to me. I don’t even know why--”

“Because it’s all bullshit,” Jane shot at her. She snapped her focus back up to her older sister. Jane’s face was harder than she remembered. Like she had seen some shit. Been through hell and back. To be fair, she was dead. Which wouldn’t make much sense as to why she was there. Or it would. This was just a dream after all. It was physically impossible for her to share a coffee with her dead sister in the kitchen of the house she lived in with the dude who was about to become her husband. “Em, you know it’s all bullshit. No one is  _ that _ nice without an ulterior motive.”

Once again, Emma shrugged. There was something unsettling in Jane’s eyes. The same chocolate brown as her own save for the hints of khaki green that came through in the right light. But there was a cold disinterest there. Nothing like the Jane she knew growing up. There was a lack of light in her face. Her big sister had always been enthusiastic and worked so hard to put on the best front she could to everyone. This person stared at her with nothing behind her eyes. “I don’t know,” she replied, leaving Jane’s name in her mouth. This wasn’t her sister. “I was shitty to her my whole life… mostly because  _ you _ didn’t like her, and she’s been really good to both of us. Tom is, like, really happy for the first time in years. And Tim--”

Jane snorted, taking a sip from the mug in her hand. "Yeah, what's up with  _ that _ anyway?" she questioned before blowing lightly over the top of her mug. Emma squinted at her in an attempt to understand the question. She was fairly certain she had been pretty clear with her answer. Becky  _ was _ nice. So nice that Emma thought she must have blocked high school out of her mind. Emma the nasty little shit for really no good reason other than her sister not liking this girl. Becky the gracious and kind upperclassman who usually just wrote her off as being an angry teenager, which, in Becky's defense, she was. Jane rolled her eyes. "Not that dumb ginger. The guy. What's up with that… whole thing that's going on still?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she placed the mug down on the counter behind her. "Paul?" she guessed, receiving a nod as a response. She frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The first time she found herself defensive over him was with Zoey, who mercilessly gave her shit until she snapped.  _ “For fuck’s sake,  _ yes, _ I’m dating the black coffee guy, but  _ no, _ it’s not for the fucking tip money or whatever the fuck else you might be thinking. I just like him. Is that alright with you, Detective Dickwad?” _ She could feel her blood rushing into her ears as her sister--or the image of her sister--grinned at her. Her face must have been beet red when Jane shook her head. She picked up and then gripped her coffee mug tighter.

“Did I get you there, peanut?” Jane chuckled, tilting her head to the side. Emma’s stomach turned at the sight. This wasn’t the Jane she remembered. This wasn’t her sister. Jane snorted. “You better believe it is, kiddo.” Emma’s heart felt like it could have stopped in her chest. Jane rolled her eyes once more. “Listen, I’m in your fucking dream, Em. I can read your mind.” She took another sip of coffee and let out another scoff. “Not like it’s that hard. You can see it all over your face.” The blood boiled in Emma’s face. She liked to consider herself a more patient person than she was a few years earlier. However, she couldn’t deny the pounding heart in her chest. She never did have a poker face, but it was always something Jane commended her for. Never having an issue saying exactly what was on her mind at any given point in time. Jane was never able to do just that. Maybe that’s what brought her into psychiatry. “Oh, come on. Emma, it’s obvious you’re just a little embarrassed of him.”

Her fingers tightened so much around the mug she thought it might explode. “Shut your fucking mouth,” she grumbled, eyes still wide and staring right at Jane. That same smug grin was plastered across her sister’s face, and if she didn’t know she was in a dream, she might have gone right over and slapped it right off her face. Something told her not to go near her at all. Just maintain her distance.

Jane turned to face her full on. Some sort of crazed fire was burning in her eyes. Like she was trying to rile Emma up on purpose. All throughout their childhood, it had been the opposite. Jane was always trying to talk her off the ledge while she tried to get Jane to be anything but obedient. “Emma, come  _ on,” _ she groaned, throwing her head back with another laugh. The first Jane-esque thing she had done since Emma opened her eyes. She remembered so many nights being on the phone with her listening to her laugh at all the escapades she, the baby sister, was getting into in a completely new country to her. “What do you see in that… that geek?”

“What the  _ fuck _ is that supposed to mean?” Emma spat back at her. She felt it was a fair question. There was no way her sister ever would have questioned her settling down with someone as nice as Paul was. Nice and goddamn normal. He did have his moments here and there. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and contort himself into weird sitting positions as he read a book. There was another time he had completely spontaneously scooped her up into an impromptu dance to  _ Iris _ by the Foo Fighters around the kitchen one Friday evening. She could remember burying her face into his chest, dying with laughter as he just about dragged her around the kitchen. What did she see in him? “He’s the… he’s… I don’t know, Jane!”

“Uh huh,” Jane hummed as she leaned forward, propping her chin up in her hand. As if Emma were one of her patients. Like she was laid out on a table to be dissected like some fetal pig left to soak in formaldehyde after its untimely demise. Suddenly, she felt very self conscious like she was under the microscope of a particularly judgmental scientist. “That was very convincing, Emma. Tell me more.” She squeezed her eyes shut at Jane’s words, willing herself awake. All she wanted was to be back in her bed, so she could roll over and wrap herself up in him. Warm and comforting. “That’s not going to work and you know it. You’re going to have to answer the question sometime.”

Eyes springing open, she stared blankly at Jane. “You want to know what I see in him?” Jane nodded. She thought about the quiet nights she had finally spent talking to Tom. About those last few years. How things unraveled. The way she grew darker and darker in her mindset. The aggression. The tormenting. Picking apart at anything Tom did just to get a rise out of him.  _ “Becky’s husband left, and she just got… so angry. I just wanted things to be good again, y’know. For Tim’s sake. But, Emma, they just got worse, and I swear to god I wasn’t about to just fucking leave them to be with Becky again… I couldn’t. I really did love Jane, Emma. You’ve gotta believe me.” _ Jealousy. That was the burning in her eyes. There was something bitter and envious. Maybe even a little annoyed. All uncharacteristic but she felt like her observation might have been correct. “He listens to me talk about stupid shit for hours and lets me fucking… come to him when I’m feeling like shit and he knows that I eat an entire damn box of Mallomars on your birthday.” Something in Jane’s features softened. As if the real Jane had shifted back into her spot. She shrugged, sighing heavily. “I don’t know, Janey.” A smile quirked on Jane’s lips for just a moment. “I just love him. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and things finally feel right… I’m really fucking happy for once in my life.”

As quickly as Jane had softened, whatever green grudging flame in her eyes had reappeared. Jane slowly pushed her stool out and took quiet careful steps toward her. “Well, it’s a shame it has to be in Hatchetfield, huh?” she asked in a volume no louder than a whisper. “You’re going to die here, Emma. Like you should have back in that house.” It was a taunt. That was all it was. Emma backed away slightly as Jane’s feet slapped against the tiled floor. When she looked her sister in the eye, she was terrified to find them nearly jaundiced with a neon iris. Like some terrifying alien creature out of a shitty sci-fi movie. A grin twisted its way onto her face as she approached with a slightly increased speed. Her head tilted at its inhuman angle again, bones threatening to pop right through the skin on her neck. “You’re going to die, and then your goddamn… husband is… going to throw out _ all that’s left of you!” _ The footsteps became more frantic, and Emma found herself scrambling away from the form that once looked identical to how Jane looked in all the last photos taken of her. Pools of red bloomed through Jane’s yellow t-shirt. Gashes sprouted along her cheeks and forehead. Shards of glass fell from her with each step. “He just  _ had _ to junk the fucking car.”

Hands reached out for her. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her foot slipped from under her as she backed away, leaving her prone to the monster lunging at her with twisted smiles and screams. She closed her eyes, ready to wake up in that moment, when everything became silent. Opening her eyes again, she found that there was a hand on Jane’s mangled shoulder. Neatly manicured with red polish adorned on long fingers. Jane was yanked back with a grunt to reveal the owner of the hand. A long stern face. Full lips turned downward into a ruby red frown. Brows knit together in either concentration or disappointment. Emma couldn’t be fully sure either way. Dark hair was neatly pinned and curled. Navy blue dress was nipped at her waist before flaring out to her knee. She looked like something out of a 1940s fashion illustration. “That’s quite enough,” she said simply. Her voice was higher in tone that she expected. Soft spoken with a slight tinge of an accent. Jane looked at her incredulously. The woman raised an eyebrow in response. “Go.”

Just like that, Jane was left hobbling away, dragging a useless leg behind her as she did. There were more grumbles about the car as she went, but Emma didn’t have any room to question what was happening. A hand reached out to her again. This time, she was willing to take it. The hand was cool against her own. Graceful and soft. “Uh, thanks,” was all she could utter up to the woman, who had proven to be much taller than herself. Up close, she was far less intimidating. Her features were soft and rounded. Not many harsh edges. A set of ice blue doe eyes stared down at her with a gentle gaze.

The woman grabbed both of her hands, giving them a light squeeze. “It is a pleasure to get to meet you, my girl,” she said with her hands still wrapped around Emma’s. The accent was slight as if she had been away from wherever she had come from for a long time. Just a slight thickness when she said certain words. She hung on ‘pleasure’ and ‘girl’ in a slightly deeper and more guttural way. The frown that had been poised on her lips turned upward into a small smile. “The shame is it has to be this way.”

Emma furrowed her brows. “I’m sorry,” she responded without removing her hands. There was something familiar about her that left Emma comforted. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Nodding, the woman let go of Emma’s right hand and wrapped both hands around her left. “Sometimes you do,” she explained. Though, it wasn’t much of an explanation at all. “Sometimes you both do.” The woman gestured to the foyer where Jane had disappeared into a flood of sunlight. She looked down into Emma’s eyes. “She doesn’t want to, you know? The work did all this to her. Twisted and secret, it all got into her mind. Infected her.”

Emma shook her head, more confused than ever. “What are you talking about?” she asked, a little more desperation in her voice than she had hoped to have. “I have no idea--”

“It will be alright,” she interjected with the same reassuring smile on her face. She ran a thumb over Emma’s hand. Everything about the interaction felt strangely like something Emma had already been accustomed to. The woman reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair off of Emma’s forehead before letting it sit on her cheek. “I promise. This is right.” The hand fell to wrap itself around Emma’s once more.

“What does that mean?” Emma wondered. Once again, the hands that held her own squeezed around her fingers. She glanced down, feeling a cool metal against her skin. Eyes widened and looked back up to the woman. She opened her mouth to speak, but in a moment that she blinked, she found herself back in the dark, blankets wrapped around her. Cool air hit against her face as she continued to blink over and over again in an attempt to let her eyes adjust. “Holy shit,” she mumbled to herself while turning onto her side to face the wall.

The bed sunk beside her. An arm wrapped around her middle. “You okay?” Paul grumbled against the back of her neck. Her hand fell over his. She ran her fingertips over his knuckles. She thought about what the mystery woman had said. Moving her hand from his, she twisted the ring she had forgotten to take off around her finger. “Em?” She turned around to face him, still wrapped in his one arm.

She brought her hands up to rest against his cheeks. Even though it was dark enough that she couldn’t see him, she knew exactly what she was looking at. She had memorized the roadmap of his face. She knew every crease and curve and turn. Every freckle was a landmark she had taken note of in the back of her mind. “I’m good,” she whispered, thumbs grazing over his cheekbones. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Kissing him now in their bed felt like just as big of a jolt of electricity as it had in the middle of the snowstorm in a kitchen that was just his before. She pulled him closer to her without releasing his lips. Her arm wrapped around his shoulder, fingers threading through his hair. 

He was the one to break from her for a moment. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless. His hand moved from where it had landed on her waist to tuck a stray piece of hair off her forehead. The hand landed on her cheek. A quiet and hauntingly familiar gesture. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Fingers trailed along his cheek, over his jaw, and down the side of his neck. She thought about Jane asking her what she saw in him. Truthfully, she saw the next several eternities every time her eyes found his. She saw someone who she could talk to everyday until the day came where she could talk no more. She saw, in him, a future she had never found herself thinking of before. Mortgages. Barbecues. Savings accounts. Family gatherings. Date nights. Stable jobs. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I’m good.” Her lips found his once more. A little deeper. A little more wanton. “This is good.” His arm tightened around her, pulling her flush against him. A warmth had grown in her gut, pooling between her legs. She backed away from him only enough to knock her forehead against his. “I’m going to marry the crap out of you.”

His chuckles tickled her face. They must not have been asleep for too long. There was still a hint of mint on his breath. “Yeah?” he replied, fingers toying with the waistband of her underwear that had ridden up on her hip. “Bold words from the girl who thought I might murder her the night we had our first date.” Fingertips crawled up underneath the t-shirt she was wearing. They were cool against her skin. Tantalizing. Teasing. 

She yipped slightly when his thumb grazed against her nipple. Less grazing and more purposeful rubbing honestly. “Yeah, well, I was wrong,” she mumbled into his mouth. Lips found each other again. Softly. Open. He kissed along her cheek and over her jaw. “You wouldn’t even kiss me that night.” Lips trailed down her neck, agonizingly slow and careful, taking extra care at the pulse point. Teeth dug in ever so slightly. Her breath hitched in her throat. “I thought I was going to fuck the black coffee guy when he brought me home that night.”

He paused to let out a soft laugh. His hand dropped down from her breast to rest against the side of her ribs. “Sorry, I didn’t know,” he responded with another laugh. “But to be fair, if I know about all of this, I might have.” The kisses began to move again. Across her throat. Down along her collarbone. She craned her neck to grant him better access. “But only maybe. I kind of like the way things played out.” What did she see in him? She saw patience and peace. Growth and laughter. A little piece of somewhere she thought she hated. Something that she loved so much he made fucking Hatchetfield tolerable.

“Fucking… Jesus,  _ Paul!” _ she gasped when a hand dipped just below her waistband. He was also a damn fine lay, a detail Zoey managed to get out of her a number of months in. She could feel him smile against her lips. “You always this horny in the middle of the night?” Pushing him onto his back, she tossed a leg over his hips and leaned down over him. In the dim light of the nearly full moon, she could see him staring up at her. His eyes had glazed over with some flavor of want for her. What it was exactly, she couldn’t pinpoint, but it was fully laced with adoration. She pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it across the room. He smirked. “What’s that look for, nerd?”

He shimmied out of his shirt, a little less graceful than her motions due to being pressed against the mattress. Her hands splayed out across his chest. His found her hips. “I don’t know,” he said between kisses she was placing at every angle of his mouth. “I just like you.” His fingers tangled in her hair, deepening the kisses she had been teasing him with. He tasted like the years of her life she never thought she would see. Like high school reunions and birthday cards that only had a specific age every ten years. 

Her hips rolled against his as her tongue snaked into his mouth. He gripped a hand on her ass. A common move, but it was one she had yet to be sick of a few years in. “You just like that I want to marry you,” she chattered against his lips. “You just want to get me with that old ball and chain.”

The hand on her ass moved up and underneath her underwear to palm the cheek itself. “You caught me there,” he mumbled into her mouth. The words were clumsy and barely able to get out. “This has just been a long con. I was just waiting for you to get comfortable. Then I’m going to drop something really crazy on you.”

“Oh yeah,” she hummed as she left another smattering of kisses against his jaw. “I dare you to find a dealbreaker, bub.”

“Alright, here goes nothing,” he began, leaving a long pause. She sat up, face hovering over his to encourage him to continue. “I’m actually from… Clivesdale.”

For a moment, she believed him and was about to give him shit by pretending it was dramatically the worst thing he could have told her, but she thought better of it. “You’re Hatchetfield’s number one fan, but it was a nice try.” Any other time, he might have tried to come up with something a little more believable or a little less, and they would have gone back and forth for longer than most people would have found funny. Instead, though, he laughed and leaned up to kiss her again. Full on the mouth. Something like reverence translated as his tongue twisted with hers. An offering at some altar to show his utter devotion.

Both sets of underwear joined her shirt somewhere in the dark corners of the room. He quietly uttered some other joke about Clivesdale when he kicked his pair off the bed. She collapsed with laughter into his neck. In the time she knew him, she couldn’t remember another point in her life where she smiled as much as she did with him. At dumb jokes. At the silly sweet things he did. At him just existing there with her. She lifted her head, kissing him once more with all the excitement of the night before a big trip. Anticipation and joy was seeped in every touch.

What did she see in him? “Hey,” she breathed against him, kisses growing more desperate. “How do you feel about me taking your name?” She had been very adamant about keeping her name initially, which he was okay with. In fact, he didn’t really care. It was never something that was going to bother him. He simply wanted her. Nothing else. But she thought about it. About her family. There was no more Perkins clan. They had all been wiped out by time. She had her Houston family. And then there was Paul. The family that had grown the fastest and the most beautifully in her heart. Her whole life she would think about people she knew changing their names just to match their new husbands’ names. It seemed silly and antiquated. With him, though, she just wanted a little piece of him to bring with her everywhere she went. A little part that allowed her to show him off even when he wasn’t around. Even when people didn’t realize that’s what she was doing. “‘Mrs. Matthews’ has some sort of ring to it, right?”

Their hips came together, and he groaned in response, his hand on the back of her neck. “If that’s what you want,” he panted before capturing her mouth once again. What she saw was someone who knew her inside and out. He was aware of so many quirks and traits of hers it was like she was the back of his hand. He knew her almost as well as the streets of Hatchetfield, which he was so familiar with he could get around any and all traffic at any given point in time. He was so in sync with her that she suddenly knew why people wanted to fall in love, and at the same time, couldn’t understand how so many people could describe love as painful. Loving him was the easiest thing she had done in her whole life. She sat up all while keeping the rhythm they had started. His hand fell from her neck and then ran along her stomach and over her hip. “Emma, all I want is you.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. The Jane of her dreams was wrong. So incredibly incorrect she couldn’t even begin to describe it. This was not the type of love that someone would throw away if something happened. This wasn’t a car being dumped at a junkyard or a settling for second best if this didn’t work out. It was a game changing earth shaking emotion. The kind of love that seeped out of every pore every single day. That spilled onto everything she did and said. When she thought about her sister, it was always perfection. It was the straight A’s. The respectable job. The white picket fence. The husband. The kid. Check, check, check, until the list was done. That wasn’t what this was, though. Her love was less like a checklist and more like a never ending grocery list. Things kept being added with excitement at what was to come. Full of hunger and wonder and want. A little messy sometimes when things were crossed off or added too, but it was constantly being updated and bettered. She sighed happily into his mouth.

The realization of the anger in Jane’s eyes hit her as she kissed him with everything she had to give. Every pro and con she could think of. Every happy, sad, angry memory she could give him. Every part of her life that she was willing to now share with him just as he had always shared with her. “Em,” her name came from his throat like a hymn of worship to an angel she very well knew she wasn’t. Everything about him was so right.

And she concluded that Jane or whatever projection of her was haunting Emma’s nightmares was upset that her little sister had finally done something better than she had.

Emma was happy. 

Emma was fulfilled. 

Emma was deeply, truly in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO COME ON WERE NONE OF YOU GOING TO TELL ME THAT TOM CALLS PAUL A GEEK BUT ONLY AFTER TIM CALLS HIM UNCLE PAUL IN NIGHTMARE TIME? ARE Y'ALL KIDDING ME?


	5. Such a Distant Stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul go out for breakfast while she mulls over some past trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HEY HELLO BIG CONTENT WARNING
> 
> There's a lot of blood, guts, and gore in here. Just be aware. There's some heavy shit in here. Also some very light mentioning of racism in here as well just as an extra warning!
> 
> I promise the fluff is coming back I just needed to get some stuff out here OKAY?

Emma sat across the table from an empty booth. Eyes stared out blankly over the black coffee that sat there steaming. Her mind was a million miles away. It was her first real day off in nearly two years, and she wasn’t even able to fully enjoy it. She tapped her finger against the side of her own mug. Slightly lighter. Two creamers today. A light chatter was buzzing around the diner as regulars sat down in their normal spots. An old man sat brightly awake talking with one of the waitresses, who was nodding so much that her ponytail was swinging back and forth. Somewhere a radio was quietly playing.  _ Tiny Dancer _ by Elton John was tinkering along only to disappear somewhere in the air that was thick with the scent of home fries and bacon.

All she could think about was the dream she had when she fell back asleep, though. Not about the poorly removed sign that designated the section that used to be for smoking from the non-smoking. Not the chipping teal backsplash tiles behind the soda machine. Not the carpet that had recently been steam cleaned but not well, she noted, due to the clear line of demarcation where the speckled carpet turned from an eggplant color to a deep brown. There were images burned into her mind unlike any of the nightmares she had been having recently. This one was different. This was real, and she was sure of it.

She had opened her eyes after settling back under the blankets with Paul wrapped around her, warm and sticky from working up a midnight sweat. The last thing she could recall before she drifted off to sleep was him moving her hair, so he could press a single gentle kiss against the back of her neck. When she seemingly awoke, she was on the floor of a bedroom. She spread her fingers out against the plush beige carpeting below her. Above her, she could just make out the glow in the dark stickers that were barely visible on the purple ceiling. The room smelled vaguely of cheap girl’s deodorant and faint lingering coffee. A blanket was halfway covering her body, leading to the conclusion that she probably knocked it off in her sleep.

Rolling to pull herself up, she sat and looked around the bedroom she was in. Clothing was tossed into carless piles all over the room. Dresser drawers hung open with articles of clothing clearly pulled out and then put back in again without being folded. An array of colorful deodorants, eyeshadows, and lotions were scattered across the tops of both dressers. A stack of notebooks was haphazardly thrown together on the desk that sat against the wall in front of her. The sheets and comforter on the bed were strewn about like someone had fought off a herd of wild dogs in it. Polaroids were taped up throughout the room. A large poster for the movie  _ Scream _ hung on one of the walls beside a much smaller picture, likely torn from a magazine, of Kurt Cobain, but she noticed they were  _ just _ a little crooked. She chuckled to herself. This was truly Paul’s worst fucking nightmare.

She hoisted herself onto her feet to examine her surroundings a little further when a thump and a squelch came from somewhere in the house. With caution, she moved forward in the room, attempting to be as light on her feet as she could manage. She shivered slightly, realizing how under dressed she was. All she had to keep her warm was one oversized Spice Girls t-shirt. Bare legs. Bare arms. Hair cropped just as her chin. No length to add some warmth. Her eyes narrowed. Everything around her was familiar. She moved out of the bedroom and into the similarly carpeted hallway. Everything was quiet after the noise from what she assumed was downstairs. Too quiet. She half expected the sound of the coffee pot finishing its cycle to ring through the house to cut the silence like a scream in a horror movie.

The stairway almost looked like a doorway midway down the hall. She turned to find more carpet but also the stairwell. A large drop of something red had fallen onto the light material. She looked down at her hands. Red nails. They must have spilled nail polish. Miss Betty was going to have their heads. Her breath nearly left her when the realization hit her. Betty Mayberry. She and Lisa had been painting their nails the night before. There had been a tidal wave of issues in the Perkins household the night before. Lisa, fifteen to Emma’s eleven, offered to have Emma over while Jane smoothed things over with their parents. She crept down the stairs to find someone to see if she had to go home or if she could stay a little while longer.

Lisa and Jane had been best friends growing up. They clicked when the Mayberrys first moved into the neighborhood. Maybe it was because there was finally another family that was a little different in Hatchetfield, which was the whitest of all white breads. Emma had never seen another family that looked a little different like theirs did. Betty Mayberry was tall and had a head of blonde ringlet curls. She could recall her mother commenting that she looked like Grace Kelly. Long and lean and elegant. Like someone who would have been born and bred in Hatchetfield. Mr. Mayberry, Charlie as the Perkins girls were told to call him, was a large man. He was easily the size of any doorway he walked through, moving like a gentle shadow through doorways. That was how Emma remembered him at least. She had asked her mother why the new kid’s dad was a shadow man. To which one Silvia Perkins responded by pinching her daughter’s ear hard.  _ “Tonto del culo! Emma, don’t be rude.” _ To be fair, Emma wasn’t trying to be rude. She hadn’t ever seen anyone so dark before. Charlie was the color of the dark chocolate filling Silvia used to put in cakes at Christmastime. 

The Perkins sisters eventually got used to the idiots and the assholes that would come up to them at school. Asking when their mother was going back to Mexico. If their dad was aware he made a couple of  _ spic _ kids and that he probably wasn’t even their father. How their grandparents were going to feel when they raised an army of welfare babies. The first time she heard anything said, Lisa Mayberry grabbed the young boy’s arm with both hands and squeezed as hard as she could. The boy didn’t even go to school with them. He was tall and older than they all were. Probably in his second or third year of high school. Big blue eyes. Letterman's jacket with a timberwolf on the side. She said he bothered the girls again that she would break his arm, make it look like an accident, and be sure he wouldn’t tell anyone it wasn’t. Needless to day, things were better once the Mayberrys moved in.

Lisa’s little brother, Luke, was a year younger than Emma was. He liked to ride bikes through the mud and play with Nerf guns. While Lisa was on Jane’s page with both age and likes, Luke was right in Emma’s wheelhouse. They spent hours at the edge of Witchwood fucking around and shooting the shit. Stupid kid things. Carving shit into trees. Finding animal poop to put into paper bags and throw onto a neighbor’s porch on fire because they saw it in a movie once. Wondering if there was some hidden treasure in Hatchetfield that they could have a  _ Goonies _ -like adventure to find.  _ “I bet you any money there’s a guy like Sloth somewhere hiding on the island,”  _ Luke had gleefully announced as they balanced along a stone wall they found built in the forest. It was long and big. Something that would have taken a long time to build by hand. The first day they found it there was a strange humming somewhere in the forest. They assumed it was some sort of animal and left but eagerly returned on their bikes the next day. The wall wrapped around in a long curve. At some point in time, there might have been something it walled in. However, at this point there was nothing but leaves covering the forest floor of Withcwood. There were faded colors and markings on the smooth black stones. Pink. Blue. Yellow. Green. Luke had jumped down a little too close to the wall and sliced his hand on a stone smudged with what appeared to have once been a deep violet color. Emma thought about taking one of those stones before the snafu to bring to Lisa. Purple was her favorite color.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was more polish. A deep maroon red that belonged to Betty. Lisa had gone into her parents’ bathroom and borrowed it.  _ “We won’t tell Mom, though, right, Em?” _ Maybe Lisa brought it back downstairs to show her mom because there was something wrong with it. It  _ had _ smelled a little funny the night before. She stepped off the last stair and onto the cool linoleum. She shivered again. It was really cold, which made sense for November, but she couldn’t get past how chilly it was. There must have been windows open somewhere in the house. It felt like sticking her head in the freezer in the summer felt. She took a few more steps forward before her feet slipped on something wet on the floor. Her side hit the floor with a splat. A slight pain radiated from her elbow and then subsided a little bit. She braced herself against the floor to stand up when it dawned on her that she was laying in something… wet. Beneath her, there was a pool of red. This time it certainly wasn’t nail polish. She clambered to her feet. Her hands flipped back and forth. They were covered in the thick red liquid. Her hands shook.

Suddenly, something grabbed at her ankle. Startled, she looked to the ground. “Em,” Lisa rasped from the ground. A deep gash marred her curls that usually Emma felt were made of sunshine. Her t-shirt--a prized Boyz II Men shirt she frequently bragged about--was covered in blooms of red. Darker at the center of each spot, she couldn’t be sure what would have caused it. “Help.” Bright green eyes served as a remarkable contrast to her skin tone. She almost looked unreal. Like a being that wasn’t of this earth. But this time, they were difficult to make out. She wore her glasses in the morning before popping in the contacts she’d convinced her parents to let her start wearing when she began high school. A fingerprint smudged red across one of the lenses and in the clear one, red had oozed from her head and into her eye, but Emma could clearly see they were wide with fear. Absolute terror. “Please.” Spots of maroon peppered along her cheek and jaw. Drips fell from her lips onto the arm that was holding Emma’s ankle. 

Beyond Lisa, Emma could just barely make out two more figures slumped on the floor in the den just outside the foyer. Kind Charlie was doubled over. His barrel chest was no more. It looked more to her like the cans of corned beef hash they liked to eat on Saturday mornings in the Mayberry house after Luke covered his in mounds of Ketchup. A set of dark eyes stared out into nowhere. One heavy gash was apparent on the side of his bald head. Beside him, she could clearly see Betty’s green eyes, but they were in the wrong place. Her neck was bent too far to the side. Nothing but dark red showed at the side of her neck. She looked as though someone had attempted to pop the head off of a Barbie doll and gave up halfway through. Her hands were limp beside her. Although, Emma wasn’t really sure they were there. There was too much deep dark red everywhere, and she couldn’t quite see them.

The fourth figure in the house stepped into view. Luke was relatively unscathed. There were blotches of red all over his face and shirt, but otherwise he seemed fine. His hands were completely covered. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have said he covered his arms in red food coloring and cornstarch. He stared out at her. Quiet once again. Lisa was panting on the floor. She had let go of Emma’s leg. “You should go,” he told her. His eyes weren’t right. They were tinged plum in the whites and white where his warm brown usually was. Emma always liked that their eyes were alike. ‘Poop brown’ as they would say. She blinked at him. He blinked back. “I think you should go.” A whimper came from Lisa on the ground. In one of Luke’s hands, Emma was realizing the tool of destruction was hanging. The old ax Charlie used to split wood for the fireplace. She looked back up at him. There was nothing in his eyes staring back at her. His face twisted with anger. “Go! Leave!”

In her shock and horror, she skittered away from him. Not as quickly as he would have liked, though, so he tightened his grip on the handle of the ax, causing it to sway slightly. She stumbled back from him and backed onto the front door, grasping desperately for the front door. The last thing she saw before tumbling outside was Luke grabbing Lisa’s ankle to pull her into the den. Outside was colder than inside had been, but she didn’t care. The door clicked shut behind her. Each step she took felt labored, like she was walking on a bed of nails. The shivering was normal at this point. Everything felt different. She looked down at her feet as she walked. Her legs were stained with the blood she had fallen into. Blood was what it all was. It had dawned on her when she looked at Betty. Things felt wrong. She took another three steps toward the sidewalk. It was a half a mile home by herself in the cold. Covered in blood.

“Holy crap,” a voice gasped. She looked up. A boy on a bicycle with a sack of rolled up paper stared at her with widened saucers of eyes. Blue like the early morning sky. He was tall but still looked to be about the same age as her. Skinny with sloping shoulders and a little bit of a cowlick as though he hadn’t combed his hair when he got out of bed. She would have told him to leave her alone, but the words wouldn’t come. She took another step forward with her arms hanging limp at her sides. “Are you… um, are you okay?”

The voice itself was one she knew in some way. It was difficult to place, but she felt like she had heard it somewhere. Maybe they went to school together. “I need to go home,” she explained, voice weak. “He told me to go.” Of course this kid didn’t know who  _ he _ was. Honestly, she didn’t either. She barely knew who she was in that moment. “I need to go--”

“Where do you live?” the boy interjected.

“Mirtis Street.”

He considered her words, looking around to see if anyone else was up at that ungodly hour. “Okay.” She didn’t know why she was telling him where she lived. It wasn’t that far. She really just needed to start walking. The longer she stood in front of the house, the more she felt like a set of eyes were boring into her back. She just needed to go. “I could take you home if you want,” he finally offered. “I don’t have any pegs anymore, but I think you might be able to fit between the handlebars.”

The handlebars on his bike dipped low like a bike she saw her mother riding in an old photo. She assessed his offer and then looked back for a moment. The blue house had always been a little bit of a reprieve. She could never do anything right at home, but Mr. and Mrs. Mayberry liked her anyway. Now, it just looked like a black hole of emptiness. She brought her eyes back to the boy. “Okay,” she agreed. “But you can’t look. I’m not wearing pants.” He blushed but said nothing as he held the bars still so she could hoist herself up. “Also you’ve gotta go up Flower Ave because only the backdoor is unlocked.”

“Um, okay,” he mumbled, followed by several repetitions of the same work.He steadied the bicycle before pushing off from the sidewalk and onto the quiet suburban street. She looked back one more time as they bounded down the street to find Luke watching them from the window, eyes devoid of anything she knew of her friend. He disappeared into the room before they were too far away for her to see. Her face turned back to the road ahead of them. The cold slapped against her face. Her cheeks stung. Was she crying? Maybe. She couldn’t be sure. All she could think about was what would have happened if the boy and the bike hadn’t shown up when they did. Luke had been waiting. Watching. Wanting to see what she would do. She had been frozen. Unable to go much of anywhere. Tears rolled down her cheeks. This time she was sure.

She never figured out what Jane did with the Spice Girls shirt or what happened to the Halloween costume she left at the Mayberrys. When the bike boy had dropped her off, she slipped through the loose board in their fence, tuning out his question of whether or not she was okay. She didn’t remember seeing the boy at school on Monday and for a few weeks wondered if he even existed or had been a figment of her imagination the whole time. The shower pounded against her skin for so long the water was ice cold by the time she got out. She was pretty sure that was when she started packing the memories away. In a few months, she didn’t remember what happened at all. Didn’t even know the Mayberrys had been murdered. Almost like nothing had officially happened, but it did.

“Eggs benedict for the lady,” the cheery waitress with the ponytail said as a plate landed in front of Emma. She blinked before giving her a slight smile and a nod. “And a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes over here.” Paul slid into the empty side of the booth and mimicked Emma’s soft thankful smile. “Can I get anything else for you folks?”

He glanced down at the table. “Extra napkins, please?” he requested as more of a question than an answer. The waitress nodded and then headed back to behind the bar. He grinned down at his breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes were something his parents never allowed them to have when he was growing up, so he only ordered them on special occasions. Emma liked to make them for his birthday. A smile touched her lips. He looked to her. “Are you okay?”

A pile of napkins was placed between them. “Alright, here we go,” the waitress chirped before topping off Emma’s coffee. “Now, you guys enjoy, okay?”

Emma shook her head. “Yeah, I’m…” the words died on her lips. She didn’t know why the paperboy had been so significant in her mind. Sure, her dad liked that he was working so hard at so young, but he often went on about a lot of stupid shit like that. Sometimes even about fictional characters on TV. She brought her eyes to his. Not as wide this time. Not as scared. Just as blue. “I’m okay.”

He tapped his index finger against the sealed single use container of syrup the waitress had dumped on the table before he had gotten up to use the bathroom. “Are you sure?” he questioned, dipping his head down to be at eye level with her. “You seem… a little out of it today.”

She forced a smirk onto her lips. “You had me doing quite the workout in the middle of the night, champ,” she responded, hoping the lilt in her voice was convincing enough. All things considered, she was okay. A little shaken at the sudden memory of massive trauma. It was something to bring up with the therapist he had suggested she start using. “Of course I’m out of it.”  
His eyes narrowed as he spread a thin layer of butter over his bottom pancake, then the middle, and finally on top. The logic he had was that the middle and bottom cakes had the most head to them and would melt the butter a little better even if he didn’t do an even job spreading it. “Are you sure?” he repeated. Clearly her faking wasn’t working. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.

Without another word on the subject, she reached out for his hand that had been going straight to the syrup. He looked at her quizzically. “I love you,” she told him. Earnest and heartfelt. She did love him. Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a close lipped smile. “That’s all.”

He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Nerd,” he teased. That was why he had been questioned by police. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. He was the one who called them. He gave her hand another quick squeeze. Their eyes met over their day off diner breakfast. She knew those eyes. Gentle and knowing. So blue. “I love you, too, Emma.” He never told them she was there. A quietly kept secret most of his life. 

And now, they were getting married tomorrow. Emma liked to think there was something like fate that existed. Jane would have told her they were bound to meet if they were both on the island for so long. She pulled his hand up and pressed a kiss to his palm before letting him return to his food. “Takes a nerd to know a nerd, I guess,” she chuckled softly as she took a sip of her coffee.

He grinned as he spread syrup over his pancakes. “Yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Nerd,” he commented. “Maybe we both change our names to that.”

The wonder that was now in her mind again about what would have happened had she not left the Mayberrys front porch felt worse knowing how things had gone for her. The pit of her stomach sank for another moment. She looked at Paul. “Mr. and Mrs. Nerd has a nice ring to it,” she agreed. She couldn’t imagine not having him or her shop or the strange group of friends she had acquired.

“Then Mr. and Mrs. Nerd it’ll be,” he concluded through a mouthful of pancake.

She smiled, overjoyed he managed to walk in at the right time yet again to ask her if she was okay. That, she thought, had to be more than coincidence. Just like the paperboy just happening to roll by in the exact moment he needed to be there. That was what he began to feel like at some point. Fate. Destiny. Something meant to happen. 

And despite all the odds, she was going to marry that paperboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mayberrys got super fucking murdered and Emma was super fucking there y'all.


	6. Never Going Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma wander around downtown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is so stoked about NaNoWriMo? It's me. Enjoy some not nearly as heavy shit as the last chapter.

The idea of a rehearsal dinner felt silly to Emma. What did they even need to rehearse? Walking down an aisle at a certain rhythm? There was no wedding party. It was just them. That was what they both decided on. They didn’t need friends or family up there with them. Just the two of them. After all, that was what the day was really supposed to be about. Not about some display made of their friends or their family. The whole point was that  _ they _ were getting married. Everyone else could, quite frankly, kiss the fattest part of her ass.

Instead, they had decided to spend the day they’d both taken off wandering around downtown. Not something they usually were able to do. One of them was always working during the week. Then on the weekends the days were either spent running errands or doing absolutely nothing around the house. It was a good system that they had going, but at the same time, she did find herself smiling awful big as they walked down the sidewalk covered in red and orange leaves. She liked talking to Paul. Well, on this particular day, it was a lot of listening. He was picking up for her lack of quips. Her head felt like it was filled with cold scrambled eggs. Mushy and a little gross. “And Ted won’t shut the  _ hell _ up about not being the best man when I don’t even have a best man,” he sighed exasperatedly as he vented about work the past week. “Like, he won’t shut up on a normal day, but this is excessive.”

She glanced up, grinning against the rim of her Starbucks cup. A London fog latte for herself with almond milk in place of 2%. A black decaf for him. Cutting the caffeine was something they had recently taken up. After nights and nights of sleeplessness, he decided that his morning (and afternoon and evening) indulgence wasn’t worth the restlessness. Also he kept fucking up the spreadsheets at work. She suggested that he might have had a slight addiction when he came home from work one day glaring at anything that moved and complaining of the most monstrous headache. “That’s what you get for having an asshole for a friend,” she replied with a shrug. He rolled his eyes, sipping at his coffee. “He’s your fucking friend, and you can’t even deny it anymore. Don’t give me any of that shit.”

He huffed. “ _ Anyway.” _ A smirk came over her face. A subtle way of telling her she was right without fully letting it all go to her head. She leaned into him, reveling in the smile he was desperately trying to fight off. “Ted’s an idiot, but we knew that already,” he mumbled, eyes meeting hers. It was strange how time worked. She could remember the two of them coming into Beanies. Ted was a constant nuisance. Always tipping and expecting to be served like a king, which was clearly not happening with Emma. Paul, on the other hand, was a bit more timid. Awkward and always muttering  _ “Keep the change” _ to avoid technically being given a tip. “I wish we got to do this more.”

Despite all her years of avoiding any sort of public mushy bullshit, she wrapped her arm around his. They kept walking, and she couldn’t help but internally groan at how cliche romance the whole act was. But she couldn’t deny the goofy full blown grin on his face was making her stomach flip. “Yeah, it’s not so bad,” she agreed. “I guess I like you okay.” Most days it was difficult to maintain the sarcastic indifference she tried to play at him. A facade that she was just constantly mildly annoyed and ready to make fun of him at any minute. She stifled her smile with a sip of her drink. He hummed in agreement, a shit eating grin of his own plastered on his lips. 

Hatchetfield in the fall was definitely the island’s prime season. At least, that was what she thought. Everything was painted in shades of amber and wine. Cool air swirled around the town with whiffs of spice and apples. The main drag of downtown was always ready for fall to come around. It was the busiest time for any local business. With a name like Hatchetfield and its overall colorful history, the island was a hotspot for any horror lover during the Halloween season. The shop fronts all played into it. Ghouls and cobwebs showed up in every other window. Candy corns and tiny fake pumpkins decorated the streetlights in festive garlands.

It was always the one thing she liked about Hatchetfield. Halloween had been her favorite day of the entire year. In hindsight, it was likely because she was allowed to be a different person. To escape temporarily from the life she was given and be a skeleton or a vampire or even a surprisingly accurate Ace Ventura. There was a solid few hours of sheer joy she got to have out with her sister and some friends where whatever went on at home didn’t matter. It was a night of fun and sugar that she looked forward to every year.

She still enjoyed Halloween through her adulthood. Decorative pumpkins and skulls had made their way across the house every year, although it was never the same set up. Everything was a little different each year. Different skulls in different places around the house. A string of orange Christmas lights hung along the front porch. A set of paper bats hung across the wall like another person might have images of flying birds. Little twine skeleton dolls would find their way into different places. It was something she and Jane picked up from their mother when they were kids. The dolls were very rudimentary in their construction. In fact, they really looked more like voodoo dolls than anything else, but skeleton was how she always described them. Her best placement, by far, was managing to slip one into the jacket of Paul’s suit before he ran off to work. They both had worked late one evening, so she met him at the office, sneaking up to his floor. He had smiled at her over his shoulder and muttered some greeting as his eyes darted between two computer screens, both filled with a crazy amount of numbers that made her head spin a little bit. She waltzed up behind him to drape herself around his shoulders. Beside one of the many coffee mugs she had gotten him--this one had the image of a sasquatch strutting along above the word  _ ‘sassquatch’ _ , one that got a particularly hearty laugh out of him--sat the skeleton. Out, plain as day. She knew Ted probably gave him shit about it. She also knew that he probably grinned like a fool the entire time he explained what it was.

“Want to go find a dresser that’s a hundred years old and probably has a demon trapped in it?” he asked, nodding toward the antique shop that was across the street.  _ Out of the Attic _ was one of the oldest and longest standing shops in town. It had been there since she was a little girl. Her mother had also commented once that it had been an old shop by the time she moved into town. Briefly, Emma worked there in high school. The owner of the shop, an old woman named Millie, was soft spoken and kind to her, giving out the occasional extra shift with an under the table cash paycheck to keep her out of trouble. She hadn't stopped by the shop since she came home, but the thought of dropping in had crossed her mind once or twice before. Looking up, she saw him toss the idea of going into the shop back and forth in his mind. She nudged his ribs. “C’mon, nerd. Let’s do it. We already checked in with Zoey. The world is our fucking oyster now!” Checking with Zoey had been her idea. There was really no need to stop by the flower shop except to give her some peace of mind. The shop was quietly buzzing with a few customers as they milled about, trying to decide on bouquets for relatives or significant others. Zoey had quickly waved them off, saying everything was under control and that the flowers would be there on time the next day, which was enough to satisfy Emma. She just couldn’t leave the place be for one day, so both Paul and Zoey had humored her.

He pursed his lips, glancing between her and the store. “I don’t know,” he muttered. This was more of the dynamic she was used to. The nervous awkward nerd and the little shit pushing him to do things he might not really want to do initially. “That lady in there scares me.”

She arched a brow. “Millie?” she asked, receiving a nod in response. “She’s the nicest. Sure, she might  _ kinda _ look like a swamp witch, but she’s not really that scary.” A beat passed between them. “She might know black magic, though. I can’t been one hundred percent positive on that, but--”

“Okay, ha ha,” he grumbled, tugging her toward the edge of the sidewalk. “I get it. We’re going to the antique shop, whether I like it or not.” Her hand moved from his elbow to his hand, and she could have sworn she saw a grin peek out across his face even if he tried desperately to hide it. They dipped between two cars. He stuck his head out just enough to see past the two SUVs to see if traffic was clear, pulling her hand slightly. The road was slick from a light rain early that morning. Grey coated the skies still, though the forecast for the following day continued to be predicted as being sunny. She laced her chilled fingers with his as they jogged across.

Upon approaching the opposite side of the street, she could see a yellow sign posted in the window in front of an old skeleton that might have been used in a school setting.  _ ‘UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT’ _ . “See, Paul, I bet Millie is like really fucking dead at this point,” she noted as she gestured to the sign in the window. “I mean, she was definitely somewhere around eighty when I worked her, and that was almost twenty years ago. Makes sense that the scary witch lady wouldn’t work here anymore, so you should be safe, dude.”

He began to roll his eyes, but stopped to look down at her with furrowed brows. “Wait, you worked here?” he questioned. She nodded while sipping her tea. “In high school?” Once more, she nodded. A smile began to appear on her face, a hunch as to where this line of questions was headed. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at the ground as if he were trying to draw an old memory out of hiding. His eyes went wide when he looked back at her. “That was  _ you _ ? With the blonde hair and the…”

His hand gestured to his nose. “Nose ring?” she offered, knowing that she was exactly who he had been talking about. Oversized flannel shirts. Thrift store acid wash jeans she cut up purposefully. Knock off Doc Marten’s. Hoop through her nose that drove her mother nuts. Fried blonde hair cut haphazardly into a bob. He took his turn to nod. “Yeah, that was me, you nerd. Let me guess. You came in there looking for something--”

“No,” he interjected while reaching for the door to walk in. “Jack dragged me along with him.” The door jingled when they walked through it. The smell of old books and wood washed over her. It was like an old friend coming to greet her. She smiled. “He wanted to get something for his girlfriend before he went back to college after winter break. Got her this crazy looking necklace even thought I said that it was a bad idea.” The store was jam packed with all sorts of odds and ends. Mirrors of every metallic color imaginable. One of them she even recognized from when she worked there. An old tarnished silver crescent moon wrapped around a dirty reflective circle. An old mint green bicycle with a basket and a rusted bell leaned up against one of the walls. A particularly ancient looking porcelain tea set stood in a glass cabinet. A few people were wandering about the shop, which seemed to just go back further and further like an endless tunnel. Just how she had remembered it. Behind the counter, a teenage girl sat with her hair braided down either side of her head in a pair of mustard colored overalls over a black turtleneck. Her eyes were buried in a book.  _ The Fabric of Reality: the Science of Parallel Universes and Its Implications. _ Even if Millie wasn’t in charge anymore, the new owner clearly had continued the streak of finding the strangest teenagers on the island to hire. The girl looked up, saw them, and smiled to herself before looking back at the page she was on. 

Shaking her head, Emma released his hand from hers to examine a set of old pin back buttons in a rusted tin that maybe held cookies at one point in time. “How’d that end up working out for him?” she asked without looking up from the buttons. Carefully, she shuffled through the selection, being sure to not catch her fingers on any errant pins. She glanced up at him briefly. “Was it the necklace that had like the weird flower on the top and opened up to hold poison or some shit like that?”

“Yeah, that one!” She groaned and threw her head back in response, which dissolved into a fit of laughter. When she looked back up, their eyes caught. There was a certain light in his eyes she didn’t remember seeing back during the Beanies days. An effervescent happiness. Something filled with bubbles and sparklers. God, this nerd had it bad for her. “But I mean, she broke up with him, obviously, because that thing was ugly, and he was on thin ice already with her.”

“Tough break,” she sighed, picking up a button in order to inspect it closer. “In her defense, though, your brother can be kind of an idiot.”

He shrugged. “She still ended up marrying him, so I guess it all worked out in the end,” he commented. She broke her eyes from the button to look up at him with raised eyebrows. He mimicked the face she was giving him. “Oh yeah, I have no idea how he managed that, but here we are.”

“You Matthews brothers just have a habit of marrying people  _ way _ cooler than you are,” she responded with a laugh in her voice. “If you got me a poison necklace, though, I would have been flattered honestly.” He snorted. “Come on, Paul, you love me enough to let me poison you.”

“No, I absolutely do not love you enough to let you poison me,” he argued, pausing when she reached up and pinned one of the buttons to his sweater. “What’s… what are you doing, Emma? We didn’t buy this. You can’t--”

She patted the aging yellow button after it was neatly placed above his chest. “This is for you,” she announced. Across the faded yellow in bright red swirling letters, the button read:  _ ‘I am a superior lover.’ _ “The perfect button for big dick Paul, who definitely loves me enough to at least let me test out a poison on him.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at her. His eyes moved across the shop, locking on anything that wasn’t her. “I hate you,” he grumbled, but somehow, his hand had found hers again in the meantime. She traced her thumb along his palm, causing him to look back at her. He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

A wicked grin came over her features. “You  _ love _ me,” she teased, inching closer to him. “You want to  _ marry _ me.”

Once more, he bit down on his cheek, but the smirk still came through. She had told him many a time that she had never smiled as much as she had with him. Even when she was a kid, nothing compared to the sheer level of happiness she felt looking at him, but it wasn’t until one late Saturday night that he really expressed how it felt for him whilst mildly inebriated.  _ “You’re just… like… my favorite person in the whole world. I’ve never met anyone like you.” _ She had scoffed at the sentiment.  _ “No, I’m serious. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I want things. Like something more. I was fine doing the same thing every single day, but I wasn’t really, y’know? I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t do anything about it. Then you came along and… I dunno. You changed everything, so thanks for that.” _ It was strange to her how they seemed to find a spark to light a happier life in each other. That shit didn’t happen in real life, or so she thought. “I hate you,” he reiterated, doubling down on the fact that he was the worst liar she had ever met in her entire life. “I hate you, but I’m going to marry you so hard tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” she chuckled, backing him up behind a shelf she knew couldn’t be seen from the entrance to the store or from the register. The perfect blind spot. He grinned down at her, full teeth and all. “You doing this all out of spite then?” Her thumbs hooked through the belt loops on either side of his hips. “Just to get someone to decorate your house for you.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, leaning down closer to her face. Her stomach did a flip, and the grin grew wider across her lips. “You were cheaper than an interior decorator, so I figured I’d keep you around.”

“Your fucking sister-in-law does that for a living, you dweeb,” she reminded him, watching his eyes scan over her face. The scene was one she never pictured for herself anywhere, let alone in Hatchetfield. So much PDA. Vaguely sexual interactions in public. Very clearly in love. Hiding behind a shelf filled with old books so the teenager in charge of the store for the time being wouldn’t see them acting like absolute lovestruck teenagers. “You just like me.”

He shrugged again. “You caught me,” he admitted. Hands found their way to her waist, pulling her against him. Her cheek brushed against the button she had pinned to him. “I do. I like you very,  _ very _ much.” A soft kiss pressed to her lips. The best kiss. All of them were the best kisses, if she was honest with herself. Each other felt like a thousand tiny sparks were exploding all over her body. An experience she only thought existed in the minds of terrible cliche romance novelists. “And I don’t hate you at all. In fact, I’d say I--”

A woman’s voice came from beside them. “Paul?” They both glanced to their side with equally irritated and confused looks on their faces. She was tall and lanky. A long face with high cheekbones and icy blue eyes that watched them with a mix of surprise and something else Emma couldn’t place. A hand rested on the swell of her belly, thumb rubbing at the skin hiding beneath the material of her green knit sweater. “Paul Matthews?”

Emma looked over to him as the confusion grew, but the anger dissipated. Worry washed over his face in its place. “Jess?” was the only response to leave his lips. His hands remained on Emma’s waist as he straightened himself to fully stand up. The name left a terrible taste in her mouth, and she wasn’t even the one to say it. She knew from the descriptions he had given her on rare occasions matched up as best they could to the woman who stood there save for the long dark hair that fell pin straight down her back, but the Jessica she had heard about was blonde and lived somewhere out west and wanted nothing to do with Hatchetfield. “What are you doing here?”

The woman continued to rub at her very pregnant belly, the glint of a wedding ring flashing in the dim overhead lighting. “Kathleen’s birthday is on Sunday. Her fiftieth and Ben’s throwing her a surprise party. It’s a little cheaper to stay on the island than in Clivesdale, though,” she explained. Emma had never met Bill’s ex-wife, only ever hearing stories of her. Disparaging ones from Bill. Indifferent ones from Paul. Semi-fond ones from Alice. She did recall briefly hearing about Jessica staying with Kathleen, though, after everything went down between her and Paul. “No work today?”

He blinked. “I, um, took the day off,” he explained. An answer he didn’t really owe her. He could have left it at a simple no and moved on. His one hand left Emma’s side while the other one pulled her tight against his side. His fingers tapped against her back. He was massively uncomfortable. “This is my fiancée, Emma.” His face burned bright red, clearly unsure of where to go or what to do. “We’re, um, getting married tomorrow.”

Emma raised a hand. “Hi,” was all she could muster as a greeting without getting in trouble. She had some choice words she wanted to have with this woman, but for Paul’s sake was willing to hold off.

A wave came back in response. “Hi.” Jessica’s delicate eyebrows raised, mouth forming into an ‘o’ shape. “That’s nice,” she responded, sounding just as uncomfortable as he did. For a moment, Emma could see how the pairing worked. Two tall gangly people, feeling awkward and out of place far from home. All it would have taken was the power of suggestion to get them together, and that was all it took. There was no real sense of pining that went on. They were just pushed together, and that was that. Her face softened as she looked at them. A touch of relief with a pinch of melancholy hit her eyes after a beat of silence between the three. “You look… happy.”

Emma waited for a moment before bringing her gaze back up to him. Something in her was afraid to see some sort of longing in his eyes. A sort of questioning into what could have been. For all intents and purposes, what should have been had everything gone according to his initial plans. There was none of that, though, as she found his eyes back on her. A small apologetic close lipped smile greeted her. “Yeah,” he finally answered and then looked back at the woman before them. “So do you, though,” he babbled, flipping back into the Paul Emma knew. His free hand moved with his words. “And the hair… looks nice?” He gestured to his own head. Emma wanted to smack her own hand against her forehead at this fucking doofus. “And the… whole…” He waved his hand around in the direction of Jessica’s stomach.

Jessica pursed her lips, letting out a deep sigh as she nodded. “Yeah,” she muttered as both hands ran over the curve beneath her sweater despite one holding a small plastic bag with the shop name printed across it. “Number three.” Three fucking kids? Emma’s eyebrows raised without her being able to stop them. She tried to imagine three kids that acted like her when she was little. Really, there would need to be a football coach or kindergarten teacher present to handle that shit. Jessica chuckled, light and airy. More to herself than anything else. She shook her head and glanced down at her belly. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing well.” She brought her eyes back up to his. They read a little sad. Regretful maybe. Apologetic. “Really.”

His fingers ran down Emma’s back, resting just below her ribs. “Yeah, you too,” he replied quietly. Just as genuine with a little less gloom in his tone. She reached behind her and squeezed his fingers. He returned the squeeze.

“Well,” Jessica began, lifting the bag as if it would be a good segue into whatever she was looking to say. If the whole heartbreak and ex thing hadn’t existed, Emma might have said these two would make excellent friends, but something about their history told her that would likely never happen. “I’m going to go. Check in at the Rose is surprisingly early.” The Rose Inn was another local landmark. It had been there nearly as long as the antique shop. “But it was nice to see you.”

“Mhm,” he replied with a nod. “Good to see you’re… uh, chugging along.” He gave her a thumbs up, which Emma quietly pulled down when the sentiment was not returned. “Okay… and yeah, wish Kathleen a happy birthday.”

Jessica’s brows furrowed, but she nodded. “Okay,” she muttered before looking directly at Emma. “Okay, well… congratulations.” Her eyes were ice and made Emma slightly uncomfortable. Intense and cold. Almost the same shade as his. Just cooler. Less inviting. They flicked back to Paul. “Good luck.” 

The bell on the door jingled behind her when she sauntered through it and back out to the sidewalk. Emma waited about a second before turning back to him. “That was fucking weird,” she commented while he scratched at the back of his neck with the hand that had been on her back. “She was fucking weird, Paul.”

“Yeah… I…” his words trailed off as he shrugged, face filled with bewilderment. “I have no idea what just happened.” His eyes were wide and staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. “Sorry about that. I don’t… there’s nothing there.” He looked down at her suddenly concerned. “Nothing going on between the two of us.” He pointed between himself and the door. “You know that, right?”

Her face twisted with amusement. “Jesus, Paul,” she sighed, grabbing onto his hand. “Of fucking course there isn’t. Unless you have some secret family out in west bumble-wherever-the-fuck with that fucking… weirdo, I don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about.” His shoulders sagged in relief. “Unless I should be worried.” Once again, he straightened with tension. She stared up at him with one brow arched. “I’m totally fucking with you. Chill out.”

“That’s not funny,” he groaned as she pulled him through to the depths of the store. He and the girl behind the counter made eye contact for longer than he probably would have liked when they passed. He raised his free hand. “Hi.” His eyes fell to his chest. “We’ll pay for this. I promise.” He pointed to the button. The girl grinned at him with a single nod. “Emma, what’re you--”

“Come on, nerd,” she interrupted. “I’ve got to show you something.” She did. It was really the whole point of going into the store, but it felt as good a time as any after his discomfort had risen to historic levels. Back in her favorite corner of the store were some of her favorite treasures. A wall filled with fabrics covered in paisley and plaid still existed. Different faded colors and prints hung in tiers from old drying racks Millie had put up years ago. Crates filled with different no name comic books sat in stacks beside an end table with chipped mint paint and decorative legs. Atop it was an old phonograph. A little dusty but just as glorious as she had remembered. “Look.”

He squinted at the machine as she dropped his hand. “What is it?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Honestly, it just looks like a weird… tuba or something.” He took a step closer to stand beside her. His fingers grazed along the wooden base before his brows shot up. “Is this a record player.”

Excitedly, she nodded. “Yeah, I used to come back here after I closed up the shop just so I didn’t have to go home.” She bent down to another wooden crate filled with various records. Some were old disco records. A couple faded Pink Floyd albums. She pulled out the one she was looking for, hoping it was still there. A hand brushed across it to rid the cover of dust. “Mom  _ loved _ Fleetwood Mac” The cover for  _ Rumours _ stared up at them. “I did, too, but I didn’t want her to know that. So the only place I could listen to them was here.” She smoothed her hand against the vinyl. “Or with Lisa, but that’s not really the point.”

“Em,” he said softly when he voice dipped at the mention of the Mayberry girl. “You don’t--”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad it didn’t work out with her,” she told him before sitting down on the ground. He lowered himself beside her, sitting cross legged in front of the crate of records. She tapped her fingers against the record. Evenings spent smoking a joint out of the window in the breakroom while  _ Dreams _ tinkered lightly through the empty air of the antique shop were flooding her mind. Singing  _ Go Your Own Way _ at the top of her lungs with Jane and Lisa on a hot summer afternoon as a kid. Listening to her mother hum the tune of  _ Gold Dust Woman _ as she sewed some sort of garment together. She looked over to him. “You’re just… you’re  _ really _ good at being in the right place at the right time.”

His eyes widened and then fell to the floor between them. He did know. She thought he might have. “Emma, I…” the words wouldn’t come out.

Without looking away from him, she grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her face, kissing his knuckles. “Hey,” she whispered. His eyes caught hers. “I can’t wait to run into you at this antique shop in a few years and be all awkward with you and your new fiancée.”

“That’s not funny,” he shot back, yet there was a smile beginning to blossom on his face. “You’re coming tomorrow.”

She sucked air in through her teeth with his hand still held near her face. “Oh, jeez, sorry. Did I forget to R.S.V.P.?” she questioned with an exaggerated shrug. “Because I meant to tell you I can’t make it. Oh shit, this is… well, this is awkward. I’ll send a card or something in the mail.”

He exhaled a silent laugh through his nose. “No, you conveniently forgot to do that,” he said in an attempt to keep everything light. “I just figured you would be there. We ordered those bacon wrapped scallops just for you. I guess we can just call those off then.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned. He grinned at her. “I love that shit and will absolutely go full Julia Roberts on your Richard Gere ass if we don’t get to have those.”

“You do realize they get married at the end of  _ Runaway Bride _ , right?”

“...yeah.”

“You never watched it to the end, did you?”

“No, because I can’t stand Richard Gere and his stupid Target dog face, okay?” He leaned in and found his lips up against hers once more. Soft and warm despite the cold grey day. Familiar and safe. Tasting like the next fifteen, twenty, thirty years of her life. She wished she could bottle the feeling up every time she felt it even if it returned with each and every kiss. Pulling away from him, she knocked her forehead against his. "Thanks, kid," she breathed without opening her eyes.

"For what?"

When she did open them, she found him staring back at her. Wide and curious. Filled with nothing but awe specifically directed at her. "Everything," she answered simply. The truest answer she could have given him.


	7. We Might Have Met As Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma hang out for a little while the night before the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back back back back back again. Happy Monday!

“And that one’s Cassiopeia.”

The fire crackled and wheezed as a slightly wet log steamed in the flame. Orange tendrils licked at the cold autumn air. The sun had long since settled over the horizon, leaving a blanket of black in its wake. Stars poked through the darkness like pin holes poked through a dark sheet of paper to allow the light from the other side. Brighter in the neighborhoods further from downtown.The night of the last meteor shower they had both set alarms, so they could see it all happen. They sat side by side watching as the stars flew by them. Not too dissimilar from what they were doing that night.

Emma looked over at Paul, who was intently watching the sky. He raised his hand and pointed upward. “And that one’s…” he trailed off with one eye squeezed shut. A smile crept over his face. “Lacerta,” he decided before turning to her. “The lizard.” He had been going on about constellations for the better part of an hour as they nursed a couple of beers. He insisted on not seeing her the day of the wedding, but still wanted to enjoy the rest of their day off before he went over to Bill’s house for the night. His beer couldn’t have been cold any longer, yet he was still sitting there, occasionally checking his watch to make sure it wasn’t tomorrow. The smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What’s that look for?”

She pinched her face in response. “Free, next time you’re getting charged twenty bucks,” she answered. He laughed but clearly knew that wasn’t the real answer. Really, she had been quietly watching him all day. A little like he normally would. In a silent sort of wonder at his mere existence. She was well aware that he knew, but appreciated when he laughed and played along with her. “Just didn’t realize I was living with an astronomer is all.”

The smile dwindled only slightly as he glanced back at the fire. “My grandmother knew… all kinds of things. She liked to talk about the stars, though,” he explained, tapping his finger against the side of his beer bottle. He didn’t talk about her often, but Emma knew he had been close with his grandmother. She had been gone a number of years, probably close to ten. That didn’t stop the slight sadness that twisted in his features every time he talked about her. “She used to take all of us out back during the summer and point out all the different constellations and told us about all the times she did the same with her brother.” Eyes looked back to her, still with a twinge of aching. “He was dead a  _ long _ time at that point. Died in the camps, according to Gigi.”

“That’s awful,” Emma replied. It was about all she could ever respond. Not that he meant to bring up something that was difficult to reply to. He was just talking about what he knew. Just explaining the woman she never got to meet. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he told her. “What’s done is done, right?” He took another sip of his beer before pointing the opening of it at her. “She was one of the toughest people I ever met. I was afraid of her when I was little. She had a little bit of an accent. She was from Poland originally and never really lost the accent on certain words. Like ‘girl’ was more like ‘gorl’, but we didn’t poke fun at her for it. Mostly because she would have whooped all of our asses.” She thought about the woman from the dream she had. Long nose. Big eyes. Plush lips. “She would’ve liked you.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Well, obviously,” she teased, draining the rest of her second beer. “I’m so clearly awesome.”

Shaking his head, he gazed up at the sky once more. “See, it’s shit like that,” he chuckled. “She would’ve thought you were a hoot.” She tried to imagine sitting at Thanksgiving with his grandmother. Trying to find the words to say to her about anything really. “Also she would have liked that you’re a bitch.” Her brow arched at his words. He snorted. “Come on, Emma. We all know you’re a bitch, and you like it that way even though you’re really  _ not _ a bitch at all.”

“So which is it? Am I a bitch or not?”

A lazy smile spread across his face, lighting up his face in the orange glow of the fire. “You’re a bitch, and I like you  _ so _ much,” he informed her. She rolled her eyes but returned his smile. “Gigi was always like ‘My sweet boy, you are far too nice. Everyone will be walking all over you like a doormat.’ Which was harsh to tell a fifteen year old, but she wasn’t wrong.” She laughed at his terrible imitation of his grandmother’s accent. “She used to say ‘I do not like this girl, Paul. She is far too… shiny.’ I don’t know what that meant, but she always used to give Jess the side eye at family dinners.”

“So what, pray tell, makes you think she would’ve liked me?” she wondered, leaning her head into the palm of her hand. “If she didn’t like shiny Jessica, what would there be to like about Emma who probably fell on the floor for five seconds but you're just going to blow on her and pretend it was five seconds?”

“Well, for starters, she would have liked that,” he began as he placed his beer bottle onto the ground beside him. “Because you’re smart and funny. She liked people who were quick, which is why I think she never liked Dan too much. Not that she  _ disliked _ him. He’s just the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, and I’ve met Ted. So that’s saying a lot.”

She placed her hand over her heart dramatically. “Oh my stars,” she hollered in an exaggerated southern accent. “Can you believe it? He said I’m smart  _ and _ I’m funny? Golly!”

“Also you’re a little shit who doesn’t let anything go by without a smartass comment,” he continued while scooting his chair closer to hers. “She just really liked someone she could have a conversation with, which makes her liking me a complete mystery because I was so stupid shy as a kid they thought I had stopped talking in kindergarten when really I was just nervous.” His hand reached out and grabbed her free one. Fingers were cold against her. She wrapped it up tighter in her own. “She would’ve just been happy that I was with someone who kept me on my toes and who actually loved me.”

“Oh, you think I love you?” she shot back with raised brows. “Jeez, wow. This is… boy, this is fucking awkward. I don’t know what I did to give you that impression, but I actually find you kind of fucking repulsive. So that… this is weird.”

His hand was still gripped on hers. “I’m sorry. Did I say ‘love’?” he asked in the same dramatic tone she had been using. “What I  _ meant _ to say was someone who loathed me enough to wish me eternal damnation by means of ritual sacrifice?” She bit down on the inside of her cheek. It was something she jabbed at him regularly with. Any time he said anything vaguely reminiscent of her being the most amazing person she ever met or something to that effect, she would shoot back at him with an explanation of her obviously being a witch just looking to lure him in for sacrificial purposes. He furrowed his brows as if he were thinking hard about what he just said. “Did I get that right?”

She pulled her hand from his to run through his hair. “Fucking nailed it, kid,” she replied. The fire caught his grandmother's rings at angles that made it look like the stones were glittering. It was strange to think that this time the next day they would be married. Mr. and Mrs. Nerd. She smiled over at him. “I like you. You know that?”

“Well, you  _ did _ just tell me you found me repulsive, so I’m getting some really mixed signals here,” he answered with her signature shit-eating grin on his face. “What’s the real story, Perkins? Am I just  _ that  _ polarizing?”

“No, but you  _ are _ a shit,” she grumbled with her smile unmoving. 

“What can I say? I learned from the best.” 

Sometimes, she wondered what Raul was up to back in Guatemala. She had left him quietly in the night, not wanting to cause more trouble than she already had. He wanted her to stay permanently with him, but she couldn’t bear to think she would be tied down to someone. The night she left, he told her he loved her. As she slipped out of bed later, she watched him briefly in the moonlight. Sleeping peacefully because he had no idea. Even, quiet breaths had his chest rising and falling rhythmically. A light snore left his mouth. She had pressed a soft kiss against his cheek and then left into the night. A few days later, she got the call about Jane’s funeral.

She looked to Paul who was watching her like she was the absolute greatest thing that had ever walked on the planet. He always did, and she never felt like she had to leave him. Even when she couldn’t say she loved him back, she stayed there in his bed, curled up against him wondering what her fucking deal was.  _ “It’s okay if you don’t. I just wanted you to know.” _ It wasn’t angry or even sad. Just matter of fact. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her close to him that night. She thought that maybe it was just shock when she looked back on it. A sheer sense of disbelief that someone could love her and she could love them in return. Because she absolutely was in love with him before the moment he verbalized it. She had been for a long time. She still was.

Her fingers unwound themselves from his hair to grip his chin. He continued grinning at her. It boggled her mind how she had the entirety of the night sky to look at, and all she wanted to look at was his dumb happy face. God, when did she get so fucking soft? “You’ve really got me all fucked up,” she muttered, leaning in to kiss his lips. “Like, sixteen year old Emma would beat the shit out of me and then set me on fucking fire if she found out I was getting hitched. Let alone, in  _ Hatchetfield  _ of all places.”

A feather light touch trailed along the inside of her forearm. Gentle and barely there. He was constantly doing things like that. Just absentminded touches all the time. And the most fucked up part of it was that she loved it. There was something calming in his touch that she hadn’t really felt before. “Well, I won’t tell sixteen year old Emma if you don’t,” he offered, easing into her palm as she moved her hand to his cheek. 

For a while, she hated that things were easy with him. That they just made sense together even if she wouldn’t have pictured herself with a square like him in a million years. He was everything she hadn’t ever expected or wanted. Kind. Patient. Thoughtful. A wicked fucking nerd. He listened to her rant and rave about anything and everything. Made sure she had something to eat in the middle of the day during his own lunch break. Always going that extra mile for her like no one had before him. Her thumb ran over his cheekbone. “We don’t have to talk about it, do we?” she asked quietly, smile wavering on her lips.

His brow arched in curiosity. “Talk about what?” he questioned. She watched him with steady eyes. Serious where they were usually playful. He sat up straight, moving out of her touch. His body shifted to face her completely. Half of his face glowed orange with the fire. His eyes struck her wildly in the dim firelight. They were bold and electric. She didn’t know how she could have gone so long without everything flooding back to her. “We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.”

Silence wrapped them up, save for the licking of the fire. Crackles and pops carried through the autumn night air. The fall filled everything with spice and warmth despite the dropping temperatures. She twisted the ring around her finger before pulling her legs up to her chest. For a moment, she felt like a kid again. Like she was being badgered by Jane about how she was feeling or what happened at school. If people were bothering her. How irresponsible it was to leave like she did. She sighed. “I think he would’ve killed me if you weren’t there,” she admitted quietly. She tucked her chin between her knees. Eyes wandered to the space between them. “Probably. I don’t know.” She glanced up at him, willing the pools starting in her eyes back down. “I wish I knew you then.”

He offered her a tight lipped smile, eyes still coming up as nothing but apologetic. Like drops of rain in the desert. A relief to be held in. “I wish I knew you, too,” he replied, placing a hand on her knee. She wondered often what it would have been like to have a real honest to god friend in her life growing up. Someone who actually took the time to know her and care about her like she knew he would have. “I would’ve followed you anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, fully aware that he would have. She had never imagined she would find someone who loved her as much as he did, and for that, she was lucky. Her whole life she never believed much in luck or destiny, but he made her want to start. She wanted to think that she was meant to know him. That there was some sort of inevitability to them. No matter where they were or what they did or who they became, there would always be  _ them _ . Their hands met on her knee. The pad of her thumb brushed over the bare left hand that was there, a wistful smile finding its way to her lips as she beheld the sight. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Her brows furrowed for a second before she looked back up at him. “That I was there… at the Mayberry house.”

He exhaled heavily, looking back up at the sky briefly. As if the stars were going to give him an answer. “Honestly,” he started, really directing his words at the clouds above them. “I just felt like you were already having a bad day, and… I saw him kind of… I don’t know, lurking in the window? And I just kind of knew you didn’t have anything to do with it as stupid as that sounds.” His eyes met hers again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I felt like things were shit enough already for you that you didn’t need a bunch of cops up your ass too.” His brows knit together in concern. “Unless you’re just the cold blooded murderer I always knew you were.”

She let out a watery snort, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “You know me,” she chuckled. “Cold fucking blooded.” Without another word, he moved back in, pulling her lips to his with a hand on either one of her cheeks. She imagined a first kiss on a front porch. An awkward first date to the fall festival. A gaggle of awkward prom photos. All of which would never be. Tears continued to roll. She pulled away from him again, squeezing her eyes shut for a second and then snapping them open to get a blurry look at his eyelids. “Please don’t go.” The words were soft and barely there in the hissing of the fire. “I know it’s bad luck or what the fuck ever, but--”

“Okay,” he cut in. His eyes had opened as well. They both looked gold in the night. Shining and true in the midst of a sea of fools. Thumbs brushed the tears off her cheeks. He kissed her once more. Tender and heartfelt. “Okay,” he repeated. 

Her hands landed on top of his. She nodded against him. Lips pressed together again. Quiet and full. Like a thousand lifetimes were coming together all at once. The taste of Christmas mornings and New Years days. Nights of fireworks and snow cones. Thunderstorms and hikes. Every single sappy thing she could think of came to mind whenever he was around. There was no one who could wear her down like him. No one was able to get her quite as soft with them. As willing to admit she was wrong. To bear everything she had with such vulnerability. When everything boiled down, no one was him. Her palms pressed against his cheeks. Another kiss. “Okay.”


	8. Wrap Yourself Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma are getting married today but would really rather sleep in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a heads up. There is some v a g u e l y sexy stuff here but there is no deed actually done.

Light poured through the thin curtains that covered their bedroom windows. It wasn’t as though they needed much privacy. The house was in the middle of the woods. No neighbors for at least a quarter mile. Light filtered in easily once the sun was up, but at night if someone had wandered into their yard and decided to peep through the upper floor’s windows, they would very likely get a show. The bottom line was the curtains were mostly for show. They had little purpose, but Paul liked how they looked so they stayed.

He was curled around Emma’s back, bare chest pressed up against her bare back, soft even breaths hit the back of her neck like a living metronome. She blinked at the sunlight filling their bedroom. With the tips of her fingers, she traced lightly along the edge of his hand and onto his wrist. His arm tightened around her middle, pulling her closer to him. He buried his face in her neck. She smiled as she shifted to try and look at him, but he kept his face pushed up against her skin. “Are you just going to walk around the house all morning with your eyes closed?” she asked, trying to stop the shiver that traveled down her spine when his thumb began to stroke lightly at the base of her ribs. 

Some sort of agreement was hummed into her neck. “Bad luck,” he mumbled. For once, she was the one who was awake while he was trying desperately to cling onto the night’s sleep. Or maybe he was just trying to cling onto her. Either was entirely possible. It had been a late night. Mostly filled with talking about anything really. That was how it normally went for them anyway. They could just go on for hours about absolutely nothing. She had never been so content to just do nothing.

“You know that shit comes from when arranged marriages were a thing, right?” Once again, he groaned and pressed his face closer to her. His lips left a light kiss at the nape of her neck. She bit back the breathy chuckle she almost involuntarily let out. “So unless my  _ dead  _ father had some sort of agreement with  _ your  _ doucheass father, I think it’ll be okay. It’s too late to back out now anyway. You’re fucking stuck with me.” He hummed once again. Another kiss against her neck.

His fingers trailed up and down the center of her chest, running along where her ribs met. From her clavicle to just below her chest. “Y’know, this isn’t really how I expected my wedding day to start,” he muttered, voice still rasped with sleep. “To be fair, though, the original picture definitely had a church.” He stifled a yawn. “Just… y’know…” He tapped against her stomach. “Traditional and shit.”

“You’re… like, sort of Jewish, though,” she reminded him. “Like, Jew- _ ish _ .” He snorted. “Jew-ish but you love Christmas too.” It was a very interesting revelation when he mentioned Judaism. He was so into Christmas. The trees. The music. The decor. The gift giving. So much so that she figured he must have been a good church-going boy his whole life, but it was quite the contrary.  _ “It wasn’t crazy serious. We went to synagogue on Friday nights with Gigi and on the big holidays. Then we had Christmas with Dad’s people, but I liked going with Gigi to services. She really loved going. She would sing so loud, and it was bad but she was so happy to be there.” _ She shifted slightly, pushing her ass right up against him. A smirk crossed her lips when he grunted and slapped at her stomach. “It’s a good thing we’re not getting married in a church. I think Jesus would’ve been  _ really  _ bummed about the shit we did last night.”

“Jesus can suck my dick,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Oh, is that Jesus’s job now?” she sing-songed, peeking at him over her shoulder. He stared back at her with one eye squeezed shut and the other just barely squinting open. “Does Jesus do as good of a job as me?” One of the things she loved most about days when he slept in was the raspy bassy voice that came out just when he woke up. It wasn’t like he went straight Thurl Ravenscroft in  _ You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch _ , but he had yet to get as uptight and fast talking as he did when he finally woke up. He was smoother when he was sleepy. That was probably the main pro of him sleeping in with her. He chuckled into the back of her neck. Lips dragged along her skin. “Is that a yes? What does Jesus have that I don’t? Is it the beard? I told you I’m working on that.”

He kissed down her neck and over her shoulder. Slow. Careful with each spot he hit. Sleepy Paul was much less reserved. Paul the night before had been constantly checking his watch to see if it was the next day until she asked him to stay. Paul the night before had nursed one bottle of beer for an entire evening. Paul the night before had been buzzing with nervousness about the day that was upon them. Sleepy Paul just kind of wanted to fuck, which she wasn’t entirely opposed to. 

His hand splayed flat against her stomach, creeping ever so slowly upward. In its wake, it left a trail of electric breadcrumbs to inevitably find its way back down. A palm came softly over her breast, barely a squeeze. A gentle touch. His lips found her neck again. “We’re getting married today,” he whispered against her skin. She rolled onto her back despite the interest she had in whatever he was planning on doing. His eyes were heavy lidded and staring down at her with a glaze that read as both sleepy and horny. The hand moved from her chest to her cheek. A smile touched his lips. “Oh man, I love you.” 

She pursed her lips to keep from grinning as much as her heart felt. “Pfft, nerd,” she scoffed. When things had first gotten serious, which all things considered was pretty quick, she didn’t know what to do. There were moments where she was ready and willing to play into it. Where she was so swept up that she was subconsciously ready to give it all back to him. Other times, she found herself crawling deep inside herself. Creeping downstairs in the middle of the night in nothing but one of his t-shirts before it was their house. Standing at the back door staring out into the yard across the pond it backed onto. Wondering just how she ended up where she was in that moment. The thought of driving off hit her a lot. Driving off and not turning back. His hands would often appear on her shoulders, rubbing soft circles against them.  _ “If you’ve gotta go, do what you have to do.” _ His words were simple but open. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he cared about her and what she wanted as well. She reached up and trailed her index finger across his jaw. “I love you, too,  _ nerd _ .”

Bending down, he kissed her again. Lazily. Calculated. His tongue ran against her lower lip. The little shit knew exactly what he was doing. Her arms snaked around his neck. She pulled herself flush against his chest while they fell back down onto the bed, this time on their sides. A hand came up to support her back. Fingers splayed out across her skin before he tightened his grip on her. That first day back during the snow storm, he had been so careful. Touches danced around like they were going to break her if he made one wrong move, but in a way, she had been flattered even if she was a little eager for him to just fucking get on with it. He was soft with her in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It wasn’t a fully anxious gentleness either. There was a sense of wanting to savor each moment. Like a cartographer carefully plotting out each hill and valley. Every landmark and natural wonder he could find. She smiled against his lips. When given a lazy morning, he still tried to map out the familiar territory. Sometimes, there were even new adventures to be had.

“Paul,” she mumbled against his lips. They immediately were over her own again, which in and of itself she had no issue with. In fact, she welcomed it. She sighed into his mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair as he allowed her tongue full access into his mouth. A throaty chuckle left her. “We’ve…” He yanked one of her legs up over his hip. “... really gotta…” She kept her mouth on his as he laid her flat against the mattress once more. “... get up.” Her legs hooked around his hips. She pulled away from him to get a better look at his face. A little pink but grinning down at her. “Listen, lover boy, you’re going to be late and fucking uptight all day if we don’t get going.”

He shook his head, dipping in to kiss her again. “I don’t care,” he told her. “I get to marry my best friend today.” Against his lips, she groaned before leaning her head back with laughter. “What?” She took her turn to shake her head.  _ “What?” _ he repeated, a little more eager for an answer as to why she was laughing at him. “Emma, why--”

With both hands on his cheeks, she brought her face close enough that their lips were almost touching again. Teasing him had proven to be one of her favorite things in the few years she had known him. Gentle jabs that would drive him nuts. She dragged her teeth along his lower lip. “You’re a fucking nerd. That’s why I’m laughing at you,” she breathed, kissing along his jaw. “You’re the biggest sap I’ve ever met in my fucking life.”

“But I mean it,” he said seriously, backing away from her. His eyes were clearer. Less clouded with whatever lust he had woken up with. The fucking morning wood got him every fucking time. “You  _ are _ my best friend.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What about Bill?” she wondered, fingers tracing against the back of his neck. 

“Fuck Bill.”

Her eyes widened. “Bill, too?” she gasped, smacking his back.

“Oh my fucking god.”

He let his face fall back down into her neck again in an attempt to hide his laughter. “First Jesus and now Bill? Who else have you been fucking?” she hollered with a laugh of her own in her voice. She had never been of the mindset that sexual encounters had to be serious to be sexual and sensual. There was nothing wrong with bringing a little levity into the situation. Especially when the sex was happening with someone she genuinely liked being around. “If you tell me Mr. Davidson and Carol finally got you in on that three way, I’m going to be pretty pissed.”

A groan left his throat. “Yeah, I’m Mr. Davidson’s designated choker,” he admitted with a huff. Another stupid joke she liked to pull in whenever she could. “It’s a hard job, but someone’s got to do it.”

“I  _ knew _ it,” she mused, running a hand through his hair again. It didn’t even feel like they would be getting married later that day. It just felt like a normal Saturday. Like they would spend half of their day in bed, talking about nothing. They’d maybe get some take out and then eat out by the pond until it got too cold outside. Then she’d get a little drunk and talk about her feelings. About how much he meant to her. About how much she loved him. But she was going to do that later on. Stone cold sober. Well, maybe not  _ fully _ sober but still. “Paul?” He went to move from her neck, but she held him there. “You’re my best friend, too.”

He exhaled, drooping a little bit above her. Both arms wrapped around her back, pulling their chests flush against each other. Skin on skin. Warm. Comfortable. “Is this how we’re doing the vows?” he asked, ilicting a laugh from her. “No eye contact and right into each other’s throats?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Nope.”

She returned his embrace, happily wrapped up in his arms. If a younger Emma Perkins were to hear about what she was doing that day, that Emma would lose her mind with rage. There was nothing she wanted less than any of what was going on. The house. The responsibility. The cat. The almost-husband. None of it, yet there she was about to have it all. Some sort of picture perfect white bread life. Exactly what Jane’s checklist had on it. Nudging his head up with her shoulder, her lips found his once more. Fully. Deeply.

What Jane did account for on her list was all of the things Emma never expected to have. The friendship. The happiness. The ease into this life. The stability her sister craved for so long had just come to Emma naturally. It fell right into her lap when she didn’t even want it, but their mother used to say that was exactly when they would find what they needed. When they weren’t even looking for it. She had not been looking for this big doof, but in him, she found a friend and a confidant. She found someone she wanted to share every moment with, happy or sad. She found someone willing to share their life with her, and someone she wanted to share hers with in return.

His hand was on her hip again, meeting them with his own. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she still grinned. “We’re getting married today,” she used his own words, trying them out on her tongue. It felt a little surreal until that moment. They were getting married. Not just an idea that came with a ring found by accident. An act that was actually happening. When they laid back down in this bed that night, they’d be a married couple. Something that had such negative connotations for so long for her. There was no worse fate than falling into a hole she couldn’t dig herself out of with someone she merely tolerated on a good day, but in reality, he had always just been lurking just out of her eyeline. Somewhere in her peripherals, just far enough she couldn’t make him out for so many years. “You’re still going to shit your pants when you see the dress.”

He hummed against her mouth. “I hope I do,” he replied, thumb running over the curve of her hip. “Then we can just come back home and do this.”

“Is that what you think is happening later?” She kissed him slowly and thoroughly. “You think you’re getting lucky, punk?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do think that.”

“Well, I appreciate that confidence.”

As he moved to adjust his hips against hers, the bedroom door swung open. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Both of their heads snapped in the direction of the door. Alice stood in the threshold with her hands over her eyes. “Emma, I can see your boob!” she hollered without removing her hands.

“Well, first off, why are you looking at my boob?” Emma shot back, not entirely fazed by her presence. Paul, on the other hand, looked absolutely horrified. Like a really embarrassed deer in headlights. “Second, you see neither of us around the fucking house and don’t even knock? Alice, this really sounds like a personal problem.”

Alice peeked between two fingers and then immediately covered her eye again. “Emma, put it away!” she shouted.

Yanking the comforter up over Paul’s shoulders to cover her own body as well, Emma grunted. “There. Are you happy?” she grimaced. “Coming into  _ my _ house and getting angry that my fucking boob is out. Unbelievable. On the day of my wedding no less.”

“You guys aren’t even supposed to see each other,” Alice argued as she dropped her hands at her side. She still refused to meet Emma’s eye. “It’s bad luck!”

“When you’ve got someone who is as big of a nerd for you as Paul is for me, you don’t need fucking luck,” Emma explained. She glanced up at him. He looked back. His face was bright red, but there was a shining in his eyes that was excited. Thrilled, even. “And also I like him alright.” A beat of silence passed. She wished Alice hadn’t walked in. Just a few more moments would have been fantastic. It was like the girl was an early morning alarm clock that came bursting through an amazing dream. Though, it wasn’t a dream at all. Even if it felt that way from time to time. He was there. She was, too. This was real. “Who needs luck when you’ve got something this good?”

A snort came from the hall. “Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Emma?” Melissa chortled into the rim of a Starbucks cup. A pair of aviator sunglasses were perched over her eyes. The night before she told Emma that she was going to drink as if they actually had a rehearsal dinner. There appeared to be some truth in that statement. “Alright, big dick Paul, get the fuck out of here. We’ve got work to do.”

Alice looked over to Melissa with wide eyes and then back to Paul. A smug grin poked out across her lips. He glanced down at Emma. “Really? Do you know no shame?” he grumbled.

Emma shrugged. “I don’t see anything to have any shame about, so no,” she stated simply.

A gagging noise came from the doorway. “Good god, girl,” Melissa sighed, yanking Alice away by the elbow. “Get dressed, assholes. We’ve got a wedding to get ready for.”


	9. I Saw Flowers In Your Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma does some pre-wedding thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends. I hope you're all staying safe and well.
> 
> American friends, everything will be okay..... I hope.

Emma stared at herself in an old antique mirror. When looking at the venue, she insisted they needed one for their house.  _ “Or we could totally just take this one. Fucking yoink it and never look back.”  _ Paul had vehemently disagreed with this plan. Its frame looked more like it should’ve been holding an old oil painting. Something that her mother might have restored the contents of. It hadn’t been a very lucrative business, but she was damn good at it. Spending weeks on end bringing a painting on the brink of death back to life. There was the occasional wealthy buyer who would come knocking on their door. Emma could remember sitting on the floor on the opposite side of a canvas watching Silvia work for hours on end. Way past her bedtime more often than not, but her mother hadn’t taken notice. The radio played songs she had never heard and could just barely understand. Silvia knew most of the words. Most of those nights, she wouldn’t even look up at Emma, but when she did, she would often wave Emma in, whispering,  _ “Conejita, come look.” _ Of course, she leaned in at her mother’s command, little eyes filled with wonder. Silvia would gently drag a brush over the painting to reveal vibrant reds and greens. Each time, Emma was just as mesmerized as the last.

She smoothed her hands against the bodice of her dress. The lace detailing was never something she had anticipated for herself. Scoop neck with a floral lace all over her torso. No lining in the fabric that covered her arms. Bareass back closing in at a gentle v above the small of her back. The skirt, however, was much more flowing than she had ever imagined. Lace continued down the length of the dress, coming in at her waist and then falling gently to pool at the floor. Everything felt a little more princess-y than she had expected. “You look really… beautiful,” Melissa commented, appearing in the mirror behind her. Emma glanced back over her shoulder with a close-lipped smile. “I hate to say it, but you look better than me, kid.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to look dumpy as  _ fuck _ for your wedding,” Emma quipped back at her. All things considered, she liked Paul’s work friends. Even Ted, although only drunk Emma would admit that one. Melissa, though, was by far her favorite. One of her closest friends, even. She was snarky and a little bitter just like Emma was, which was refreshing from Charlotte’s closeted rage and Bill’s passive aggression. Melissa was a real one, as Emma had told her blindly drunk one night. “Thanks for the hair.”

Curls had been gently pulled into a braided updo. Loose and calculated in its messiness. Flowers were nestled within the loops of hair. Red poppies and baby’s breath. Emma wasn’t one to get too finicky with her hair even. As kids, she and Jane had their hair pulled back and away from their faces constantly. In ponytails. Buns. Braids. Headbands. Any method imaginable and their mother had probably utilized it. Emma could remember constantly pulling whatever Silvia had done out by the end of the day at school and coming home to an exasperated mother, who was thanking Jane for leaving her hair be throughout the day. She reached up and touched the side of her hair gently. “Yeah, well, you owe me your mortal soul now, so don’t worry too much about it,” Melissa clucked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Emma’s ear. “But for real, you look hot.”

Snorting, Emma looked back at the mirror. “Hell yeah, I do,” she replied. In her face, she saw her mother. Really, only her mother. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Chocolate eyes. Creases already forming at the corners of her eyes. She assumed hers had come from years of squinting in the sun and smiling, but she could never be sure with her mother. She assumed that Silvia had smiled at some point in her life and could vaguely recall it. But there were so many years spent in such bitterness. Such unhappiness. She always assumed that the crow’s feet at her mother’s eyes had been caused by glaring. 

With her jaw clenched, she caught her own eyes. Her mother’s eyes. The stupid shit brown eyes she had hated her whole entire life. But did she really hate them? She wasn’t fully sure.  _ “Brown is the color of the earth, Emma,” _ Silvia explained one late afternoon at the park when she complained that her eyes weren’t blue like her classmate’s. They both squated at the ground. Silvia dug her fingers into the dirt, lifted it up, and then let it sift back down onto the ground.  _ “Mija, you are of the earth. Grounded and strong.” _

Most of the time, she tried not to think about her parents. Her father was easy. Never around to even miss. When he died, it was like a distant relative she only saw at big family gatherings had passed. It was almost like he was never even there to begin with. When it all boiled down, though, her mother was a conflict in her heart. Things were very contrasted with Silvia. Some memories were awful as if she had just swallowed a mouthful of pennies. Like blood lingering in her mouth. Then on occasion she would have this moment ping right into her mind. Like a movie playing somewhere in the distance. One she knew too well.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. Nails dug into her palm to take her mind away from the people who weren’t there. Not at that moment. Not when she needed them. She blinked over and over again. A lump had risen in her throat, thinking about Silvia. Thinking about Jane. How she had been gone so long for the last parts of both of their lives, but at the same time, one of them reached out and wanted her around. The other only knew she hated her when she died. “You okay?” Melissa questioned, looking at her in the reflection of the mirror.

She pursed her lips, nodding. The lump was still heavy in her throat. “Could you… um, get Paul?” Fings toyed with the lace at her waist. Even with him, she hadn’t talked much about her parents. There really wasn’t much to say. That was what she always said at least. With her dad, there really wasn’t. He wasn’t there. Then when he was, he wasn’t  _ really _ with them. His head was always somewhere else, or he just spent his days in bed. Her mother, however, showed a pattern of degrading. The more time passed, the angerier and more upset she became. God, what if that was what they were headed for?

“I don’t know, Emma,” Melissa muttered, pulling down one of Emma’s sleeves slightly. “He’s probably going to get all fucking uptight about it.” Melissa often talked about two different schools of Paul: the before Paul and the after Paul. Before Paul was apathetic. A little douchey even. He constantly was anxious about anything and everything. Never wanting to go out and do anything, he simply did his job and went home. After Paul smiled more. He talked with his co-workers and found himself engaging so much more. Coming down for drinks after work on a Friday night. Accepting invitations to actually hang out with the people who had really become some of his closest friends over the years. “But okay… yeah, I’ll go get him.” Melissa moved to the door before looking back at Emma. “But when he gets all stupid, that’s on you.”

Emma nodded and didn’t even really see Melissa disappear from the doorway. Her mind had wandered again. She imagined being at Jane’s wedding. When their little family was all still around. Before she was the last one standing. Their father walking Jane down the aisle to one Tom Houston. Jane looking absolutely radiant in whatever princess wedding gown she had picked out for herself. Their mother dabbing her eyes with a tissue. But she wasn’t crying from happiness. They were tears of a life lost. They always were, though. Her life. Jane’s life. They were tears of regret.

The thought of what Silvia would have thought of Paul never really crossed her mind. Jane was the first she thought of. She would have loved him and his stupid normalcy. Something to anchor her wild child sister to the ground. Emma even thought on occasion about what Lisa Mayberry would have thought about him. Maybe that he was a little plain but had a good heart. Silvia was a mystery, though. The memories were all a little fuzzy when she tried to focus on them. So many nights spent fighting in the kitchen about Emma wasting her life away. Jabs shot back at Silvia about how she didn’t have much of a life herself. Screaming knives across the table at one another. Then there would be the quiet moments of her in awe of her mother very carefully doing the things she enjoyed doing. Painting restorations. Shadow boxes. The Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a realization hit her. God, Silvia would have fucking loved him. 

_ “Emma Louise, why can’t you be more like your sister? She’s going to college and getting a degree in something that matters. She’ll be a doctor and get out of here.” _ All she could remember was her blood boiling. Her bags were hanging on either side of her. She had just announced she was going to Guatemala. The response was that she wasn’t Jane and never would be.  _ “You didn’t even try, Emma! You barely went to college, and just gave up! You didn’t even  _ try _!”  _ She had clenched her jaw down so tight she thought her teeth were going to crack.  _ “You never try.  _ Jane _ tried. Why can’t you be good like your sister?” _ She probably didn’t mean the words they came out, but Emma snapped anyway. How they always loved Jane more. How she was nothing but a mistake to them. How it would have been better off if Silvia just crawled into a ditch and died there. The horror in her mother’s eyes didn’t initially register in her mind.  _ “Someday, Emma. Someday I hope you have one just like you. Who talks to you like this. I hope I’m there to see it.” _

She wrung her hands in front of her. It wasn’t always so bad. It was never  _ good, _ but it wasn’t ever as bad as it was when she left Hatchetfield. They were both so stubborn and unhappy. Both so stuck in lives they didn’t really want. Fire was spit at each other with every single word they said. Neither was in the right. Silvia was by no means a good mother. She was detached and cold a lot of the time, but she didn’t really have a motherly bone in her body. It wasn’t what she had wanted, though. Just something that had fallen into her lap at the least opportune time. Emma looked back into her mother’s eyes, which stared at her in every reflection she caught. She pressed her index fingers against her lower eyelids. The lump in her throat had finally dissipated into tears.

“Em?” She took a deep breath in and looked over her shoulder, hoping her eyes were not too red. It was wishful thinking. He stood there in the doorway of the big open room of the old house that was just off the lake. It was a historical building. White with green shutters. Large windows that filled each large room with tons of light. It was not one that was lived in any longer, but was often used for any weddings that took place on the lake. Either to stay in the night before or after or to just use the day of. His brows were knit together in concern for just a moment until she fully turned to him. Then it was that look of disbelief that came over him sometimes. Like he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. Absolute amazement that he was even granted permission to look at her. He did his best to wipe the look off his face and reign the concern back in. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, although the act itself wasn’t very convincing. In all fairness, she  _ was _ okay. The day was just stirring up all sorts of emotions she thought she wouldn’t have to deal with. Wishing Jane was there was a normal one she was ready for. She wanted Jane around for a lot of things. When she graduated. When she opened up the shop. When she and Paul had the first group Christmas at their house. Now when she was getting married. Her mother had thrown her off. The forgiveness and regret she was feeling over Silvia was immense, and she wasn’t sure what to do. “I’m okay,” she asserted with a shrug. “I just kind of miss my mom right now weirdly enough, so that’s weird.”

Tentatively, he took a step closer. It was as though he was afraid of coming near her. His superstition was showing. “That’s not really that weird,” he assured her. He laced his fingers in and out of each other. Fidgety. “That’s pretty normal actually.” Another step in her direction. His eyes were having trouble meeting hers though. She watched him bite down on his cheek. “Did you want to talk about it?”

She considered it as an option. It would probably help to talk about it. She was fairly certain he didn’t even know what her mother’s name was and didn’t even question not asking about it because he knew she would tell him if she wanted him to know. Talking about things with him did tend to make everything feel better. She trusted him. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, shaking her head. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Those same puppy dog blue eyes. “I just wanted to see you.”

A small smile hit his lips. “Couldn’t wait another half hour?” he teased.

Once more, she shook her head. “No.” She brought her fingers up to her eyes again to catch tears before they could fall. “I figured it might be a little easier to get this over with while I’m already crying a little bit.”

“And how’s that?” he replied with a sniffle.

“Because you’re going to cry, and then I’m going to cry and it’ll be a whole fucking mess, Paul,” she explained. “I don’t know. It’s also nice to have this for just us, y’know?”

A nod in agreement. “I do,” he said softly, swallowing hard at the end of his statement.

“Oh shit, now you’ve got to marry me, nerd,” she gave a watery chuckle. There wasn’t too much use in trying to hold back the emotions. It was overwhelming. All of the buried feelings felt like they were coming to a head. To be fair though, it might have been the culmination of the years she had known him. Staying angry just didn’t feel worth it anymore. There wasn’t as much to wallow in. No need to sit around and feel miserable. It was time to let the wounds heal instead of letting them fester for longer than they already had been. “I was also hoping for maybe a hug.”

“I think we could make that happen.” In the second before he closed the gap between them, she took a quick chance to take in how he looked. The grey tux had been a good choice, as they both thought it would be. His jacket was left unbuttoned, likely missed when he had been beckoned inside. A neatly tied oxblood tie hung from his neck. Her eyes just caught his face as he pulled her into his chest. The same face she had looked at everyday for so long. The same one she hoped to look at everyday going forward. A little pink from trying to hold back any emotions that were looking to make themselves known. She wrapped her arms around his back, taking in the moment. Wanting to remember everything in vivid detail. The way the breeze was making the leaves outside rustle loudly. The orange and red and yellow that were going to surround them shortly. The light chatter that carried in from outside. He was warm and inviting. He always was, though. Always had been. He pushed back from her to look down at her. Hands raised to her cheeks, thumbs brushing fresh tears away. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

She snorted. “Matthews, you’ve got to stop buttering me up,” she laughed. One of her hands perched itself on his side. “You already got me to marry you.”

“I’m not.” He leaned down to press the softest barely there kiss against her lips. Soft just as they had been at the beginning. Softer than she anticipated after that first kiss. Like he had been chapsticking the shit out of his lips since he could understand that he shouldn’t eat chapstick. He knocked his forehead against hers. “You  _ are _ the most--”

A finger pressed against his lips. “You’re too nice to me, you know that?” she told him without moving from him. Some days she didn’t know how she ended up there with him. He was very kind to her. Always patient. Always there when she needed him. “Way too nice.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a light laugh. Blue met brown once more. “Here, why don’t I call up my mom and invite her, so you can have a mom here,” he offered with a snort. She slapped his chest. “You said I was being too nice. I figured that would even it out for you.”

Lips touched his once more. “We’ll just let you be nice,” she decided.

Grinning, he pulled away from her all without taking his eyes off of her. “Good,” he responded as he gathered up her hands with his own. He brought them up to his face and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Because I love you.”

She blinked back tears but didn’t fight the smile that was forming on her face. “What a nerd,” she whispered, squeezing his hands. “I love a big stupid nerd.”


	10. Most of All I Love How You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Emma talk a little bit before she and Paul get a little teary eyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is late and I will reply to comments tomorrow I swear! I just wanted to get this bad boy out because I couldn't stop writing lmao.

“Alright, kiddo, you ready?”

Tim looked down at Emma. He was almost a teenager already, and very clearly not taking after Jane’s side of the family height wise. She could remember meeting him. Shy and small, peeking out from behind Tom’s leg to wave at her. It took a lot of video games and stories about Jane, but she wore him down. One day, they were thick as thieves, and the rest was history. He grinned. “Yeah,” he informed her. “But I think I saw a movie once that the dad does this.” He wasn’t wrong, but his eyes went wide anyway. “Not that I want to make you feel sad today. I know Mom would’ve been really sad if she was alive when Grandpa died, so--”

“Listen, dude,” she interjected, reaching up to tuck a strand of curly honey blonde hair back with the rest of his waves, which had gotten a little too long for Tom’s liking. As she brought her hand back down, a strange feeling came over her. Warm and nervous. All from putting this kid’s hair back into place. She attempted to blink the thoughts creeping up in the back of her mind away. “Some of this stuff is so stupid and old it doesn’t even  _ really _ matter anymore.”

“Like your dad walking you down the aisle?”

“Yes, exactly like that.” She nudged him with her shoulder. The one that was free of flowers. The other held her beautiful bouquet, so nicely delivered by Zoey. Like a picture perfect Halloween bouquet. All red and white and black. “Sometimes your coolass nephew gets to walk you down the aisle, and that’s  _ way _ better.” He rolled his eyes but kept smiling. If for nothing else, she was really happy she found her way back to Hatchetfield for her nephew. He was growing up to be exactly the kid Jane hadn’t hoped for. He was easygoing and didn’t give a single shit about overachieving. A steady C student, which Emma liked to remind him was technically average. He liked taking pictures of anything and everything. They had gotten him an old film camera for Christmas the year before, admittedly Paul’s idea. He nearly shat his pants and began finding new subjects for his photos. She had a few framed up in the house just so she could show off. 

“You’re embarrassing, Aunt Emma.”

She reached out to pinch his cheek. His face pinched in disgust. “I thought I was your hip cool aunt,” she joked. Tom and Tim had proven to be solid and stable family for her. The former took a while to come around. To be fair, he did have to help her sister through ten years of trying to reel her back onto the island, but eventually, she proved herself as being there for some sort of long haul. At least that was what she continually told herself. Something inside of her still wanted to get off the island. Not permanently of course. There was no longer leaving Hatchetfield in the dust. Things were established there. She, to her shock and mild horror, had built a life for herself on the dumbass fucking island. 

“You stopped being cool when I realized what actually being cool was,” he shot back. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t be mad at me because Uncle Paul made you a dork.”

The name stopped her in her tracks. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uncle Paul?” she hummed. “Does he know about that one?”

His eyebrows raised, face going red as though he were embarrassed. “Uh… no?” he responded as more of a question than he probably intended. Paul and Tim got along well. Better than Emma had anticipated. Paul wasn’t…  _ great _ with kids. Sometimes, he would just say things that a kid didn’t really need to hear. Word vomit really came naturally to him. Awkwardness also was basically second nature for him. He often could be found overcompensating. Trying too hard to be at the kids’ level. Making a real valiant effort to be cool and receiving mostly side eyes when he did. But at some point, they had clicked. Tim had stayed with them for a weekend not too long after she had moved in. He was being dropped off long before she was due to be home from work, so Paul took half a day from work to be there when Tom stopped by. She remembered glancing anxiously at her phone the entire evening, fully ready to come home to a silent house with the two of them sitting making awkward small talk. Shockingly, she had walked in and heard laughter. Both from Tim and Paul. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes before hurrying into the living room. They sat beside each other on the couch smiling at the screen as two characters in chef hats spastically ran about the TV. Paul turned to greet her.  _ “Paul! You’ve gotta keep playing! We’re almost out of time!” _ He shrugged with raised eyebrows before looking back at the game. She could recall both of the smiles on their faces. Bright. Joyful. “Is it okay do you think?”

A soft tinkering guitar came from a speaker not too far off from where they stood. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Dude, he’s going to shit his pants when he hears you call him that,” she told him. Brown eyes stared each other down. Eyes that had been passed down generationally. Her mother’s. His mother’s. Theirs. A wave of sadness hit her. She had missed so much. The better part of a decade of this kid’s life, yet he was so willing to have her in it. “Sorry I was gone for such a long time, Tim.”

His brows furrowed. “It’s okay,” he said seriously. “You’re here now.” Better late than never, she supposed. He held his arm out to her. “I think this is what Dad said I’m supposed to do when the music goes.” His hair looked almost red in the rays of light leaking through the trees clad in red and orange. For a while, she thought he looked just like Jane. That was how she wanted to see him. A little image of her sister, but he was very clearly both Jane’s and Tom’s kid. He was tall and broad like Tom was with the warm light brown hair she had grown to hate in the hallways of Hatchetfield High. The same soft round face that seemed to draw anyone and everyone in when Tom was young. Hell, Tim was going to grow up to sound just like him. He already was starting to. She took his arm. He smiled. “Would you be upset if I cursed?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Have we met, Timothy?” she asked in response. Eyes rolled at her. “What? You asked a dumbass question.”

They began to walk in the direction of the music. “Holy shit you’re getting married,” he muttered, eliciting a belly laugh from her. She threw her head back as they continued forward. “What? Why are you laughing like that?” Even if he was getting older, there was still a naivety about him. The wild eyed child still lived on in him.  _ “Gammy and Mom used to talk about you a lot,” _ he had told her after her mother’s funeral as they sat in a corner nibbling at cookies.  _ “Gammy was a lot like you. A little mad and scary but also liked to give me a lot of hugs. She also told funny jokes.” _

“You just make me laugh, kid,” she told him as the giggles wore off. The fact of the matter was she was happy. She was happy in Hatchetfield. The most horrible place on the entire planet was now her home. Not just a stop on her map. A place where she could be grounded. She smiled at Tim. “Thanks for doing this for me, bud.”

“Well, you’re my favorite aunt, so I kinda had to.”

__ “I’m your only aunt, you little shit.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be my favorite.”

The sets of folding chairs began to come into view just as the lake began to shimmer in her line of sight. She caught Charlotte sitting in the back row, glancing over her shoulder. Her already wide eyes grew ever larger as she shoved Ted’s shoulder. He turned and gave a wild grin immediately. All Emma could hope was that he didn’t scream something fucking dumb. Luckily, all he did was throw up at huge thumbs up, probably at Paul who was likely standing in a fit of fidgety buzzing nervousness. “Uncle Paul has weird friends,” Tim muttered to Emma, eyeing Ted warily.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I mean, he’s kind of weird,” she added. “So I guess it sort of makes sense.” They hit the edge of the aisle, and tons of eyes hit her. Well, maybe not  _ tons _ . It was a small affair. Just a few friends and limited family. Maybe twenty-five people, tops. They had both agreed on something small. Emma had been willing to just take a vacation to Vegas and hit up an Elvis impersonator. Paul, on the other hand, had wanted the ceremony. The tux and the dress and the party. She didn’t take too much convincing, and when his face lit up at her agreement, she knew it was the right choice. 

That nerd was looking at the ground until his brother kicked a leg out to hit him in the shin. Initially, he glanced up with large eyes narrowed until there were some words exchanged that she was too far away to make out. He looked up, making eye contact with her. The first day he came into Beanies, he looked like a deer in headlights. Like he had looked at her and the entire world had stopped. She laughed about it to herself when he left with his black coffee, yet it was something that stuck with her as time went on. He no longer looked like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he looked at her in a way she had never witnessed before. Like she was the only person in a crowded room, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. 

The thing about it was that she was feeling the exact same way. Suddenly, there were no other people around them. No eyes on her except for his. The entire world might as well have melted away at that point. There was no one else. Just the two of them. Through thick and thin. She gave him an over exaggerated grin. He returned it with a less exaggerated but fully toothy smile of his own. For better or worse.

At the end of the aisle, Tim unwound his arm from hers and just about pummeled her in a tight hug. His arms wound around her like he was holding on for dear life. The one part of his mother that was left in his life. She rested a hand on the back of his head. “Thanks, kid,” she whispered, returning with a squeeze of her own. He pulled back from her with a small tight-lipped smile and nodded. Turning to Paul, he pondered for a moment. Just as Paul’s hand was about to reach out for some sort of awkward handshake, Tim’s face was buried in his chest now, having barreled him in a hug. With wide eyes and raised brows, Paul looked at Emma, who only could give a light chuckle to explain how she wasn’t sure what was happening, and then returned the hug. Light but genuine. Judging by the look on his face, she had been totally right in telling Tim that he was going to lose his mind when he heard the term ‘uncle’ used for the first time. Tim backed up to look up at Paul with a smile first, then at Emma. Their hands met briefly with a gentle squeeze before he scurried off to the second row, where Tom had saved him a seat. She glanced at Paul, whose eyes were a little glossy. Her elbow jutted out to nudge his ribs. A hand reached out from behind her. Over her shoulder, she found Melissa grabbing the bouquet from her hands to rest in her lap for the ceremony.

The officiant was an old friend of the professor’s. One Chad Oldwick, an old college buddy Hidgens incessantly talked about but just so happened to be able to officiate their wedding without dragging any sort of religion into the whole thing. He was tall and lean much like Hidgens himself with a shock of white hair and a similarly colored neatly maintained beard. He looked between the two of them and smiled. “Good afternoon,” he bellowed. Yeah, definitely a friend of the professor with projection like that. “Emma, Paul, and I would like to welcome you all here on this gorgeous day. It’s because of all of you--without this beautiful community of family and friend’s--that Paul and Emma’s relationship has blossomed into the pillar of strength and love we have here today. Each moment we experience in our lives--each and every choice we make or thing we say--brings us closer to where we are meant to be. Much like you all have helped guide these two to this very moment.” A beat. Paul’s hand reached out, his pinky wrapping around her index finger.

“Emma.” Chad nodded to her. “Paul.” The same for Paul. “What you have accomplished here today is no small feat. Your journey didn’t begin the day you sent out those invitations, chose this beautiful venue, or even when you decided to spend the rest of your lives together.” The lump in her throat was rising again. She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to tell herself to keep it together. “ Your journey began the moment you first met. You took the time to learn what makes the other person smile, what makes them laugh, and how to best support them when life is less than simple. You welcomed each other’s families, communities and lifelong friends, and joined them together with warmth and enthusiasm. You built a new village with your love, and have worked every day to support this village as it changes and grows.”

She looked at Paul out of the corner of her eye, and for just a split second, she saw the paperboy riding by on his bike every morning. Sometimes, he would wave slightly at her before he moved on. She saw a face passing in the crowd between the two high schools in town. A lost and sad face tall above the other people in the room yet still just out of her sights. She saw that big stupid nerd who walked into Beanies every single day. It was all a ruse to maybe attempt to flirt with the cute barista, which he never did, but just seeing her was strangely enough for him. “Marriages bring hard days, just as they bring beautiful ones. This day is a reminder of what your love has already accomplished, and the amazing possibilities of what it can continue to accomplish and overcome in the many, many years ahead of you.”

Chad continued on with flowery prose about growth and love takes a village to cultivate. How every person around them can help shape the way a relationship ends up. From the crowd, she heard someone loudly blow their nose. Immediately after, a woman’s voice scolded whoever had done it. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Alice truly played matchmaker of the century. Emma wasn’t even sure she was fully aware of what an impact she had. Things just fell into place after that night in the Barnes & Noble Starbucks. All because a funky little teenage lesbian was being nosy about her dad’s best friend’s love life. “The bride and groom have prepared their own vows, which they will now present to one another.”

At some point, they had decided he would read first. It was never spoken out loud, but it felt right. He pulled a piece of paper from an inside pocket of his jacket to unfold. He cleared his throat. “Emma…” He took a deep breath and then a heavy swallow. His eyes lifted up to hers. “Hi.” She mouthed ‘hi’ back to him with a slight chuckle. “So… wow, here we are, right? Who would have thought? A few years ago, definitely not me.” A light chuckle rolled through the guests. His eyes scanned over the page again and again and again before he tucked it back into his pocket. He grabbed her hands in his. “Em, I know things haven’t always been easy and that there are so many bumps that go on everyday.” He stopped for a moment to think about his words. “And by not easy, I mean life. Life is kind of the worst.” Another laugh. 

He stared down at their hands for a moment, thumb running over the knuckles of her left hand. “What  _ has _ been easy has been loving you,” he adjusted. “I was told my whole life that love is painful and is difficult, but I’ve never felt that way. Even when you drive me up a wall or get all pissed off at me, all I can think at the end of the day is how much I love you. And how much you drive me to be a better version of me everyday. Before I met you, I had no aspirations. I was just a normal guy drinking black coffee at his dead end job, and I was pretty miserable. Then I met a barista who had some choice words to say to a customer, and it was like I finally woke up.

“You have completely turned my life upside down, and Emma, I never want to go rightside up.” With a smile on her face, she groaned at the terrible joke. “I’ve never met anyone like you and never will again. I’m just so fortunate that you are willing to spend this life with me… and Janis. Janis loves you. That was also important.” She laughed, the lump in her throat rising. “I love the way you wake up in the morning and look like you might kill someone but still turn the coffee maker on before you leave. I love the way you can make any mood lighter with just the turn of a phrase. I love the way you leave your stupid shoes in a pile by the door… really, I just love that you leave them by the door now.” She pulled one hand away briefly to shove his shoulder. He beamed at her. “I love the way you doodle on napkins. The way you taught me to crush down plastic water bottles to save room in the recycling. The way your eyes shine when you talk about something you’re passionate about. But mostly, I love the way you get me and will fight with me and for me. I love that you love me.”

“I can’t always promise that I’ll be the best because I probably won’t be, but what I can promise is that I am going to choose you each and every day. No matter what… y’know, all the for better or worse stuff. I will always choose you and love you. The rest of the growth and stuff we can figure out along the way,” he continued, voice wavering slightly. “I had some more stuff written out, but I thought something a little spontaneous was more your speed.” She snorted. “Em, I love you more than I could ever say.”

She glanced back to Chad after a brief pause signaling that Paul was done. “How the hell am I supposed to follow that up?” she asked, a little in disbelief. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Here goes nothing I guess.” She looked back up at Paul. “So here we are, huh? Y’know, if you told a teenage Emma Perkins that she would be out here getting hitched in Hatchetfield, she would have laughed and then punched you in the gut probably because, boy, did I want to do anything  _ but _ get married or be in Hatchetfield.” She shook her head as her eyes fell to their clasped hands. “But the thing about that is she didn’t know Paul then. She’d met him once or twice in passing maybe, but she didn’t know… didn’t know what kind of happiness was in that big dumb nerd riding his bike by her house everyday.

“You show me everyday that it’s okay to be a little normal and to not always be on the move. Going off to the next thing every other second. Never being able to stay in one place. Emma ten years ago would have done anything just to get out of the house. Now, I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be on a Friday night than  _ in _ the house. With you… and Janis, of course. The queen of all things.” Only Paul laughed at that one. “You know, you might say you’re just a normal guy, but you’re one of the most special people I’ve ever met, Paul Matthews. You’re… a little weird, but that’s okay. You suffered through the  _ worst _ coffee I have  _ ever _ tasted for almost a year just for the chance to get to talk to me, but I guess it’s because of that weird awkward nerd in you that I get to spend the rest of my life with my favorite person in the world.

“I never dreamed of doing the things we do. Binge watching entire series in a weekend. Filing our taxes. Going over health insurance plans. Drinking white wine with ice cubes in it. Going to bed at nine o’clock on a Sunday because otherwise I’ll hate myself on Monday morning if I go to bed  _ literally _ any later than that.” She paused to let herself laugh in an attempt to shove the lump in her throat back down. To no avail. “Everything changed when you tripped into my life because you certainly weren’t smooth enough to step into it. You sit and you listen to me talk for hours about nothing just because I need to let off some steam. You’re one of the most thoughtful and wonderful humans I’ve ever met in my entire life, and for some reason, you’re choosing  _ me. _

“Never in a million years did I think I would find someone who loves me even half as much as you do.” A smile quirked up on her lips. Tears were pooling in her eyes. “You done went and made the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes, you big nerd, and I’ve never been so thankful for getting stuck at a guy’s house during a snowstorm. A guy who I barely knew, but he seemed harmless. And even now, when he could do the worst damage to me, I know he wouldn’t. Because you’re the best person I know. You make me a better person everyday that I know you.” She clenched her jaw, but there was no stopping the tears at this point. “I know I’ll never be the perfect partner. You know that, too, but I’ll try to be the best me. And honestly, if you need to fight anyone, I am  _ right  _ in your corner.” He let out another watery laugh. A tear rolled down his cheek. “Paul, I love you. Full stop. I. Love. You. There is no one else on this planet I’d rather figure out this crappy,  _ crappy _ life with than you. Thank you for loving me and not giving up on me those eight months you kept massively overtipping me. It’s a great flirting technique, though.”

A smile cracked along his lips as he reached up to her cheek to brush away a tear. His hand lingered for just a moment. Almost like he might have kissed her had he not remembered the setting they were in. “Now, to exchange the rings,” Chad announced. She had forgotten he was even then. She’d forgotten about their friends and family watching them. Fully encapsulated in a tunnel vision. “Paul, Emma’s right?” He moved his hand from her cheek to the front pocket of his jacket. A silver band was produced between his thumb and index finger. “Excellent! Now, repeat after me: ‘I give you this ring as a reminder that I will love, honor, and cherish you.”

“I give you this ring as a reminder that I will love, honor, and cherish you.”

“‘In all times, in all places, and in all ways forever.”

“In all times, in all places, and in all ways forever.” She could hear his voice shaking. God, she could only imagine the mess she was going to be when her turn came in a short moment.

“‘With this ring, I marry you, and bind my life to yours.’”

“With this ring, I marry you, and bind my life to yours.”

“‘ It is a symbol of my eternal love, my everlasting friendship, and the promise of all my tomorrows.’”

“It is a symbol of my eternal love, my everlasting friendship, and the promise of all my tomorrows,” Paul completed, sliding the ring easily over her ring finger. It was impressive because she had seen how badly his hands had been shaking. He was still full of surprises yet. 

“Emma.” Chad turned to face her, and for a moment, she nearly forgot why.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah, yeah, right!” she reassured him. She reached into a pocket in the skirt of her dress. Before pulling it back out, she looked up and Paul and waggled her eyebrows. “Check it out. Pockets!”

Chad cleared his throat. “Emma, repeat after me…” The words all felt like a daze. She was only looking up at Paul, who kept rushing a hand up to wipe his tears away and then doing the same for her own face. She didn’t know she was going to be this much of a mess. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she was crying so much. Everything was going well. She was happy, yet she couldn’t keep herself from tearing up. 

“And the promise of all my tomorrows.” His ring slipped over his finger just as easily. Her fingers stayed for just a minute, twisting the metal around his finger ever so slightly. She was married. It almost seemed unreal, but she was right there experiencing it. She was a married woman. A woman married in Hatchetfield to a Hatchetfield boy and living in a Hatchetfield house.

Another bellow came from Chad, “Emma and Paul,  it is with such joy that I now send you out into the world to spread the beautiful light that you share with those around you. By the power vested in me, I now, for the first time, pronounce you married. Now kiss and go celebrate!”

A sea of claps and a few whistles came from the guests. The onlookers. For a split second, he only stared at her. Unable to move. His frozen moment. By the light hitting his eyes, she could tell he was just as in awe as she was. “You gonna kiss me or what, Matthews?” she sniffled. 

“Oh!” he gasped, shaking his head. “I mean, not no like…” He shook his head again. “I am… you know what? Fuck it.” He yanked her in by her waist and pressed his lips up against hers. Gently and longingly. Even though there was no more longing. No more pining. They had it all. It had always been waiting in the wings for them. They just took a little while getting there. She snaked her arms around his neck. A smile burst out against her lips. 

She kissed him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

She loved him. 

This goofball. 

This nerd. 

Her _husband_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY MARRIED AF.


	11. Forever And Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma hit their wedding reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AMERICAN FRIENDS (AND ALL OF YOU FOLLOWING THE ELECTION), WE DID IT Y'ALL. 
> 
> CONTINUE TO BE SAFE OUT THERE <3

Emma knew she was going to do two things during the little shindig they were having: she was going to drink and she was going to dance. There was no DJ for such a small affair. Just a playlist both she and Paul had added to over the last few months. A culmination of songs both slow paced and danceable. They had decided on it in the middle of the night at some point. Just a quiet discussion after waking up in the midst of nightmares. The ones that had only started again for her. The ones he had always dealt with. It was the music they wanted. Nothing they didn’t know was coming. And there definitely wouldn’t be any fucking  _ Electric Slide _ . 

He had given her full control over their first dance. Mostly because the music he listened to was sad 80s British pop or mildly depressing and angry early 2000s alternative. Her musical taste had always been more eclectic. There was much more variety that went into it. Sometimes he would walk in a comment on the quiet acoustic music playing. That he had never heard whatever the song was before that moment. Other times there would be classics like Etta James or Frank Sinatra blasting throughout the house, which he often told her he did actually know. Then there would be the nights where the music would go from screaming to heavy rap. He trusted her to pick something good.

That was just what she did.

They had swayed back and forth to a song that was not surprisingly one of her acoustic ones. He recognized it almost immediately and was sure to make her aware of that. In response, she sarcastically told him she was very proud of him for recognizing a cover of a Beatles song, which he rolled his eyes at. His head dipped down, and their lips met. Over and over again. They whispered silly things back and forth. Some romantic. Little quips about happiness and love. Some jabbing at the expense of some of their guests. Talking about Ted the embarrassing drunk, professing his love to Charlotte who had no intention of jumping into something fully committed after her divorce. About poor Becky getting cornered by Hidgens as he explained another doomsday scenario emphatically.

A verse of the song came over the speakers they had set up just beyond the dancefloor Tom, Bill, and Alice had so nicely set up that morning. The one she was hoping he would hear. He looked down at her with knit brows. She wasn’t really one to get too emotionally charged with music. There wasn’t anything to a lot of songs. Not to much sentimentality when it came to lyrics, but she explained she had been listening to music while partaking in some passionate doodling when this particular song came on. At first, she hadn’t thought too much about it. That was until this particular verse came through her headphones:

_ For if I ever saw you _

_ I didn't catch your name _

_ But it never really mattered _

_ I will always feel the same _

All of the times they had come to just nearly know each other in passing had been striking her more and more as time went on. The day at the Mayberry house. The Sycamore kids being bussed over for  _ Brigadoon _ . Hatchetfield was by no means a small town, but it felt almost inevitable that they would have met at some point or another. At the park or the mall or one of those dumbass joint school dances. Specifically prom their junior year of high school. The Timberwolves and the Nighthawks had come together to have one big prom, which nearly ended in war. Whoever had the idea that it was a good idea to put two rival schools in one gymnasium together was an absolute moron. But Paul and Emma had discovered that neither one of them had been there but had come out to the cove instead.

For May, the evening had been cool, she remembered. The t-shirt she left her house in had been proving to be not nearly enough for the chill in the air, but there was no way in hell she was going to go back home at that point. She wandered out to the end of the old dock they were always told to not go out onto. Her feet dangled over the water. There was no moon. No light reflecting off of the water. Just a small orange glow from the burning end of the second cigarette she was smoking. She took another drag with the hopes that the smoke would fill her body with the warmth that was seriously lacking around her.

She did have friends who went to the prom. Mostly to heckle people but they went nonetheless. Not that she wasn’t invited to go, because she was. They were all going to go as a group, but she didn’t see any point in going somewhere else to be miserable. Hell, she cut out of a lot of her classes because that was the case. The teachers always left a window open in the staff lounge, so they could smoke. It made it easier for her to wiggle out of there, which is exactly what she did with the prom plans. Silvia was always a good excuse. She was tough and strict with her girls. There were a lot of things they were told they couldn’t go to. Largely, party-based. Jane was always compliant. Emma was always out anyway, middle fingers in the air as she went.

Another long drag off the cigarette filled her lungs. Across the lake, porch lights glowed from the mcmansions. The likes of the Monroes and the Priceleys and the Spankoffskis lived in those houses. All of them were in Sycamore’s district, so after elementary school, she lost sight of the kids. Save for Frank. Mr. and Mrs. Priceley insisted on him staying at Hatchetfield High, which was a nightmare for everyone because the kid was a goddamn asshole. He was probably at the prom, making up some tall tale about how he hooked up with Becky Barnes after Tom got shipped out. It wasn’t true, but he sure did like to talk like it was. She blew a puff of smoke into the air. Yeah, this quiet was better than home or that stupid fucking school gym.

A twig snapped behind her. Her head shot in the direction of the noise. Too bad the lake wasn’t smaller, so the porch lights on those big stupid houses were useless.  _ “I’m sorry.” _ It was a boy. Young by the sound of his voice. Maybe the same age as her.  _ “I was just… I didn’t mean to…” _ She didn’t give him a chance to get his shit together. Clambering over the crumbling wooden dock, she ran past the tree she heard the voice come from.  _ “What--” _ There was more to whatever he said, but she just kept going. Her lungs burnt with each swallow of cold air. She was pretty sure she dropped whatever was left of her cigarette into the lake. Not that she could really take the time to care. She ran and ran until she could no longer hear the lake. No longer hear the chirping of crickets or the songs of toads. She ran until she was warm. Until it hurt to breathe. Until she was sure that no one was following her. She braced herself against a streetlamp to catch her breath and thought about what a terrible creepy fucking place this town was.

As it turned out, many years later she would learn that Paul had wandered out to the lake while he was pretending to be at prom, so his brothers would finally leave him be. It was the one place he knew they probably wouldn’t go on a Friday night in May. It wasn’t close enough to summer for his two oldest brothers to try and pick up newly graduated high school seniors partaking in drunken shenanigans at the cove. He wasn’t able to see where he was going but found the tree she had eventually run by. Then he saw the cigarette glowing in the darkness and could just make out the shape of a person. He stood frozen for longer than he wanted to admit to her, and then when he tried to leave, the dumbass stepped on a stick.

It was just another case of ships passing in the night. They had so many chances to come into contact with one another throughout their entire histories on the island, yet it took her chain smoking in the mall parking lot dressed up like an elf to get anything started. As they danced, she pulled him down into a kiss. Soft at first. Then her hands pulled him in a little deeper. Emotions weren’t her strong suit, so communicating how much she felt wasn’t always an option. She loved him, though, and wanted to make sure he knew even though she was well aware that wouldn’t translate so well into a kiss. It was worth a try every single time though.

Across the little set up of tables and chairs they had up, she watched him chat with Bill. She had needed a little quiet reprieve from the socializing to really think about the day. Off in a corner gave her a good vantage point of the entire event. A smile spread across his face at whatever his best friend had said, and he nodded. His jacket had disappeared at some point throughout the night. Sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. A shining came his ring finger on the hand holding his beer. Everything was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the string lights Zoey had suggested hanging. On each table sat one of her flower arrangements. Bouquets of red, black, and white. The most Halloween she could have added to their day. As a little girl, she always imagined if she were to get married it would have been a gigantic costume party. A masquerade with lots of loud music and dancing. But that wasn’t really Paul’s speed, and that was okay with her. She was fine just with the day because at the bottom of everything she still got the boy, which in a surprising twist of events was better than any costume party she could have gone to.

The sound of claps and drums and some vaguely electronic strings came blaring through the speakers. She smirked, pulling herself successfully out of her thoughts. Without a word, she grabbed her glass from the small table beside her, draining the remaining bit of amber liquid in it. A particularly expensive bottle of whiskey Tom had gotten her at Christmas that she was saving for a special occasion. This was about as special as it got, she decided. She kept the glass in hand and then slowly began wiggling her way across the space. As she passed, she knocked her hip into Zoey’s. The younger woman glared for just a moment before rolling her eyes with a smile and turning back to Emma’s newly dubbed sister-in-law. 

The brother-in-law attached to that sister-in-law made eye contact with her for just a moment as she continued onward. Jack had very similar eyes to Paul. Large and blue. His were less curious though. A little colder. A little more stoic. She liked Jack. That was something she couldn’t deny, but there was something about him that read a little more like the elder Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. A little less vulnerable and sweet. More reserved. Jack nudged Paul, who didn’t look away from the conversation he was already engrossed in. Another nudge. Paul turned to Jack with a slight annoyance in his features. When directed to look out toward the dance floor, a smile touched his lips. She grinned. Her head felt a little fuzzy now that she was walking around. A single finger raised and curled to beckon him out toward her. He arched a brow.

Smile widening, she continued to make her way over to him after he didn’t come when she had gestured to him. She ducked between Alice and Deb as they danced. Elbowed Ted in the ribs when he nearly backed into her. Swayed right up in front of Paul. “You’re a little drunk, huh?” he mused down at her. She couldn’t remember a time when another person’s gaze made her feel as warm as his did. Like her gut was filled with buzzing honeybees. Nodding, she reached up and ran a hand over his tie. “You need a refill, drinky?”

She shook her head. “Nope, you’ve gotta dance with me first,” she responded, tugging on the tie in her hand slightly. The words that left her mouth turned around in her mind. She nodded her head back and forth. “Well, yes, I guess, but I wanna dance with you.” The thought had crossed her mind once or twice before. If she had gone to prom with this enormous nerd. He had put on muscle and weight since he was in high school from the pictures she had seen of him from those years, but he was still that same bashful doofus back then. She was sure of it, and she was  _ also _ sure that she would have fallen in love with him back then too. Imagining taking all the adventures she had with him made her heart hammer in her chest and at the same time sink into her stomach.

He glanced between his brother and Bill, who both had no reason to give him for not following her. A heavy sigh left him. “Fine,” he agreed. The smile hadn’t left his lips the entire time despite him being less than inclined to actually partake in dancing. He was well aware that she had wanted to dance. In fact, he had been watching her on and off all night as she danced around with some of the people who had come to the wedding. “But I’m a terrible dancer, so if I trip all over myself, that’s on you.”

Once more, she tugged on the tie, which this time gave way to him moving onto the dance floor. Victory. “I know something that can be on me later,” she mumbled when he got close enough to her. His face flushed red and eyebrows shot up. “Oh, don’t give me that. It’s not like we haven’t fucked before.” She nearly backed right into Charlotte as she hit the floor. He took her wrist to pull her into his chest before she was able to do so. She grinned up at him, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Oh man, there you go saving me…  _ again.” _ She gave him an open mouth smile as if she were trying to get him to laugh at the joke. He only rolled his eyes. “Pfft, fuck you then. Let’s go.”

She took her hand and moved to grab his hand instead, pulling him away from the people already bopping around. Spinning around on her heel, her arms flew around the back of his neck. “Em, I’m no good at this,” he reiterated, situating the beer bottle that was still in his hand behind her. “I don’t really…  _ do _ the whole dancing thing.”

“Well, I  _ do _ , and we’ve got a lot of time to get you up to speed with me, huh?” she hummed. His hand was guided to her waist before she grabbed his beer from his other hand. She glanced over her shoulder, a bright idea hitting her. “Hey, dumbass!” Ted turned around with his brows furrowed. “Beer?” Beneath the music, she couldn’t tell exactly what he said, but it must have been accepting because he took the bottle right out of her hand then wandered back off. She looked back up at Paul, whose lips were pursed and eyes were narrowed. “I’ll get you a new beer later. But I need  _ this _ for now.” She grabbed his other hand and placed it on the other side of her waist. 

It was funny. He said he couldn’t dance. That he  _ didn’t  _ dance. But as she began to move along to the music, he just seemed to follow in suit. Like he did actually know what he was doing. He kept the rhythm with her well, following the sway of her hips. It was how they normally were, though. They both followed the flow that the other set off. There was a lot of give and take between them, which made sense since their relationship had always been solid. Trusting and full of confidence. He pulled her flush against him, burying his face into her neck. “Nerd, get out of there!” she hollered. A soft kiss pressed against her skin. She smacked his back. “Get your face out of there and face me, you stupid nerd!” Just like that, he was back to looking down at her.

The music seemed to melt away when he looked at her. He seemed to be having that effect on her as of late. Maybe it wasn’t just lately. He had always given her some sort of tunnel vision. Like the rest of the world didn’t matter. That it was them against the world. “I think I could’ve loved you my whole life,” she said seriously. They had stopped moving for a moment. Sometimes she felt so guilty about how much time she wasted doing fuck all. There was nothing about running away that made her better. Different, yes. Better, no. There was so much she was missing out on at home.

One of his hands moved from her waist to tuck a curl behind her ear. The braided updo had since fallen around her face, hair cascading down past her shoulders. His palm rested against her cheek. “I could still love you my whole life,” he told her. It was a fair statement. There was so much life left to live, and they were going to do it together. A life together. Something they were going to build and exist in side by side. “You’re wasting your one dance here, Perkins.” His tone was teasing but also likely utilizing that inflection to pull her out of her thoughts.   
Her eyes scanned over his face. Soft in its angles. Open. Friendly. Safe. A smile broke out across her face as he took the lead in moving them along to the beat of the song once more. His hands were on her waist again, holding her close to him. “Oh, you better believe I’m getting more than one dance out of you, punk,” she challenged, pushing up on her toes to kiss his lips. Her stomach flipped. Even if his mouth tasted like Heiniken, it felt a little bizarre that she had kissed anyone else in her life. Or at the very least thought she enjoyed kissing anyone else. His arms wound around her back, lifting her off the ground just slightly. The sound of someone’s camera shutter went off. She released his mouth for just a moment, leaning her head against his without opening her eyes. “I thought it was Matthews now?”

She could feel him smile. Their lips met once more. Deeper this time. Deep enough that if it wasn’t her wedding night she might have been inclined to ditch the party early and head home to see what that kissing would lead to. “I think you meant Nerd,” he corrected in a mumble against her lips. A senseless grin passed along her face. She couldn’t help it. “You  _ did _ say we could change our last names to Nerd. Y’know, Paul and Emma Nerd? Has a nice ring to it, right?”

As he spoke, his lips continued to brush against hers. These were the lips she knew so well. That she would continue to know so well. The last first kiss she would ever have. They came together again. Her arms tightened around him. “I guess that’s it then,” she mumbled into his mouth. He gave her a full tooth-bearing smile. “I guess nerd is contagious, so it makes sense to just put it right out there since we’re both nerds now.”

He hummed. Another kiss. “Yeah, we’re a couple of nerds. Janis is the cool one,” he agreed. “Janis can keep her last name I guess.” Music began to fade out. The song was ending but there they still were, wrapped up in their own little world. Sometimes, living out in the woods felt like that. Like they lived on their own little island and life was going on elsewhere around them. It didn’t really matter what went on outside of that bubble either. They were happy. Things were good. “Mmm--” A kiss, “--I love--” kiss, “--you--” another kiss, “--ya big--” his lips were making it very difficult to playfully insult him, “--nerd.”

Their faces finally pulled away from one another. His smile was soft but bright as he looked at her. Eyes were filled with joy despite how blue they might have been. “I love you,” he repeated. Short. Simple. To the point. The bottom line. The bottom of  _ everything: _ somehow they found each other and fell hard, fast, and face first in love. And  _ somehow _ , regardless of how she had always felt about relationships once they got too serious, there was no urge to go anywhere. This was exactly where she wanted to be forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a lil note here!
> 
> The song they have their first dance to is a cover of the Beatles' 'I Will' by Lowland Hum and then they fun song Emma pulls the big geek out on the floor to in my head was 'Kill the Lights' by Alex Newell.
> 
> Just in case you wanted to know. You might not have cared but NOW YOU KNOW.


	12. These Are Just Ghosts That Broke My Heart Before I Met You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has a little blast from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said another story was going to be my NaNo project but I've currently put in almost 27k words to this little thing that wasn't supposed to be too long at all. So here we are I guess.

Emma sat with her head in her hands. That last glass of whiskey was something she definitely didn’t need. Plus, it was getting to be very late. She wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. Most of their guests had left. Tom, Becky, and Tim had to call it relatively early. There was no reason for Tim to be staying up so late. Bill and his new mystery girlfriend left just before ten. Paul had told her the name of the new bespeckled love interest, but she had to admit she forgot almost immediately. Something about her working on the top floor of their building was all she could really remember. There were a few stragglers. Ted and Alice among them. The music had faded into the night. Just quiet nighttime rustling in the trees. Wind slapped against the calm waters of the lake. 

Her hands ran down her face, suddenly exhausted. The light strumming of an acoustic guitar in whatever song was on now seemed to play somewhere in the distance of her mind. She opened her eyes. The space before her was quiet. Empty. Just the quiet hum of some sort of music playing in the distance. A familiar song. She looked over her shoulder. Nothing but the dark of the nearby trees. Her attention turned forward again. Empty beer bottles and glasses littered the tabletops. Her floral arrangements still stood tall. They almost appeared to be the star of every surface they were only. The center of attention as opposed to the mere decorations they were intended to be. She scrubbed a hand over her face again, willing herself to stand up. Maybe Paul was just pulling the car around. 

A voice beside her startled her right out of her thoughts. “It’s a beautiful night,” a woman said calmly. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. Someone now sat in a chair two seats to the left of her. A woman. Petite shoulders. Long dark hair, looking out at the reception set up they had. Only this time around she could see the remaining people. Ted stood at the far end of the area, leaning against a table. His hands waved around as he spoke to Alice and Deb, whose faces grew more and more concerned with every word. Opposite them, Jack was finishing off a can of beer, which fell from his lips when it was empty leaving a shit eating grin in its wake. Beside him, Zoey narrowed her eyes and shook her head as she spoke. Across from them, Paul stood watching the two go at each other’s throats. His tie had disappeared at some point during the night. The top two buttons of his shirt had been undone. Whatever product he had in his hair to start the night had faded, hair flopping down onto his forehead. He glanced up and met her eyes, sending her a smile along with a small wave.

“Not really what I imagined,” the woman continued. She looked over at the back of this mystery person’s head. The woman was small. In every capacity. If not for the deeper tone of her voice, Emma might have thought she was a teenager. As if playing a game of  _ Guess Who, _ she scrolled through the guests who had filtered in and out throughout the day. No one she could recall would fit the limited description of the person next to her. Her brows knit together while the woman turned to face her and then immediately shot up her forehead. “But it really was beautiful, mija.”

Emma’s head shot back and forth, looking all around. Trying to see if there was anyone around her who could confirm what she was seeing. Her stomach churned. She felt like she was either going to scream or vomit. Maybe both. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she spat out. It had been years since she saw her mother. The last time was Jane’s funeral, where they could barely even look at each other let alone bring themselves to speaking terms. Everything was left hanging in the air between them with any moment of reconciliation being smothered before it had the chance to surface. “What are you doing here?”

Silvia’s face was not as Emma remembered it. Youthful and full. More like pictures she could remember digging up out of the back of a closet when she was a kid. There was a glow that she had never seen in her entire life. Her mother did not glow. She glowered. A slight cloud of misery seemed to have followed her wherever she went. Though as Emma thought about it as she got older, it read more as regret than anything else. Like the life she ended up with was not the one she wanted. “Because I never got to say I was sorry,” Silvia stated quietly. Her eyes had drifted to the table between them. “Or that I was so relieved when you came home in one piece.”

Emma snorted, feeling her insides twist up. There was such a level of mixed emotions swirling around in her at that moment. That morning she had been thinking about how she wished her mother could have been there. How she wished they could have made up and been better before it was too late. The other part was still angry. For all the fighting. All the unnecessary scolding. All the times she was told that the things she enjoyed were never going to get her anywhere. “I didn’t want to,” she decided on. It was true. She hadn’t wanted to come home, whether it was in one piece or not. “I didn’t think I would.”

A hum came in response. Silvia’s eyes remained on the table, nail picking at the splintering wood. “For what it may be worth, I did cry,” she explained. Emma’s brows furrowed. It was something Silvia had been adamantly against for as long as she could remember.  _ “Emma, you don’t ever let them see you cry. You hear me?” _ She had brushed dirt off of Emma’s cheek with a thumb wetted with saliva. Or maybe it had just been the tears that had already been streaming down her face.  _ “They will take advantage any way they can. They always do.” _ Emma pressed the pads of her thumb and forefinger into the corners of her eyes. “Every day after you left, I cried.”

“Would’ve been nice to know you liked me before I left,” she mumbled, propping her chin in her hand. She clenched her jaw to keep the lump in her throat at bay. In another life, maybe, she had a better relationship with her mother. Perhaps their relationship was even  _ good. _ They would sit and talk about the problems they had. She would have come to the wedding and teared up as her youngest spoke about the deep love she felt. But as things were, none of that would have ever happened. Instead, she died, and her bitter daughter didn’t even come to her funeral. “Before you up and fucking died.”

Silvia sighed. “I always loved you, Emma,” she asserted. “Not one day went by where I didn’t love you.” Her eyes were hard. One of the reasons Emma had a difficult time meeting them. The stare was intense and laced with rage. What she was angry at, Emma wasn’t entirely sure, but she always assumed it must have been her. Emma scoffed. “I did, and I know you don’t believe me.”

“Fuck no I don’t,” Emma snapped. The anger was bubbling. All the things she wanted to say or do seemed to be rushing out the door. The blind rage and hurt were coming up to the surface. The feeling of being a little girl and getting yelled at for anything she did even slightly out of line was coming to the front of her mind. “You made it real fucking clear that I was  _ never _ as good as Jane. ‘Oh, Jane did this’ or ‘look Jane has a career and college degree and a fucking family. What the fuck are you doing with your life, Emma?’” The world felt like it was spinning. Her head felt fuzzy.

A hand covered hers that she only just realized was balled up so tightly in a fist she was probably about to draw blood. “I couldn’t hate you if I tried,” Silvia reiterated. Emma’s eyes lifted to her mother’s. Reflections looking at each other in some fucked up funhouse mirror.  _ “I hate that you’re like… like… like  _ this _!” _ One of the last things Silvia ever said to her. A screaming match the night before Emma ran off to Guatemala, not to be seen again for a decade. “You were just so much like me I was scared for you.” Emma sucked her cheeks in, biting down hard. A metallic taste seeped into her mouth. “I was scared you would end up stuck like me.” It had been a constant fear of hers. Getting stuck somewhere. She never wanted to settle down. Once she settled down, she would be stuck, and then she would turn into her mother. That was something she would never let happen to herself. “Did I ever tell you how I met Daddy?”

Emma shrugged. “In Boston,” she answered simply. She pressed her tongue up against the roof of her mouth. The lump in her throat rose. “You worked in a shop that he came into.”

“That’s… almost right,” Silvia responded. She hopped from the seat she was in to the one right next to Emma’s. Her hand returned to its spot right on top of Emma’s. Emma wouldn’t admit it, but there was some sort of comfort for her in the gesture. Suddenly, the thought of being curled up in her childhood bed crying into her mother’s chest about ‘the green man’ who haunted her nightmares came back to her. “I worked at an art gallery. It was the best work I could get at the time. It paid my bills, and I got to be around art all day. For a temporary job, it was pretty good, and your father liked to come in and look at things in there.” She took a pause. Eyes fell back to the table. “He was working fixing small load aircrafts at the time and didn’t live too far from the gallery.” Her eyes slid shut like she was enjoying a warm memory. Shaking her head, she chuckled. “He was the  _ only _ person who walked through there and didn’t look at me like I was some three headed fucking… demon.” Emma tilted her head to the side. “I was very clearly not like the other girl who worked there with me. Caroline was a pretty little white girl with her long red hair and her--” She gestured to her chest with both hands, “--massive knockers, man. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you much there, Em.”

A genuine laugh came from Emma this time. Small but true. “It’s all about the ass these days,” she informed her. A brow arched in response. “But also fuck that girl and the tits she rode in on.”

Silvia waved her off. “Eh, Caroline was a nice girl,” she explained. “Soft spoken and… just plain nice. That also might have been part of the issue. I was loud and a little mean.” Before Emma had the chance to open her mouth and agree, her mother continued. “I know you understand. Mija, we are cut from the same cloth.” Emma’s mouth snapped shut. “Michael Perkins liked to come by the gallery and look at the art. He knew jack shit about it, but eventually he came up and asked me about it. I worked afternoons and evenings. That was when he came by. I would talk him through the different pieces. He said he liked the way I saw things.” She took a deep breath in before continuing. Her eyes raised up to Emma’s again. “Then one night he asked me to dinner.”

“Sounds like you and Dad had a picture perfect fucking romance,” Emma huffed. From what she could remember of them being in the same room, which wasn’t much because they rarely were, was they were simply civil and not much else. Like a divorced couple trying their best to get along for the sake of the kids but really wanted to bite each other’s heads off. 

“Not exactly,” Silvia continued. “We went out. He took me back to his place, and then nine months later, little baby Jane was born.”

Eyebrows raised, she stared at the vision of her mother. Emma was well aware this had to be a dream of a hallucination, but there was something nice about getting to talk to her mother as an adult. Hearing the stories she never even pondered. “So Dad knocked you up and you married him,” she concluded, eyes wide. She scanned over Silvia’s face. A sense of regret and shame had washed over her features. Emma frowned. “You didn’t even like him.”

Silvia snorted this time. “I didn’t want to see the asshole again,” she concurred. “We got dinner and went back to his tiny apartment. One pump fucking chump fell asleep on me, so I went home.  _ Then _ I started getting sick. Throwing up everywhere. I couldn’t keep anything down, and that’s when everything went downhill.” She sighed with another shrug. “Next thing I knew I was married to this guy with two kids teaching snot-nosed little brats at a school in his creepy hometown.”

“It  _ is _ creepy here, right?” Emma hollered. “It’s not just me?”

Silvia’s eyes went wide as she nodded. “Baby, you don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I came here and immediately hated it, but the schools were good for Michael’s pride and joy, and they paid well enough and hired me with just a fine arts degree.” Emma hadn’t known her mother went to school for art. She knew that she restored paintings in her spare time, but had no idea about the background of that hobby. “Oh, and you know he  _ loved _ Jane because she was  _ all _ him. Driven and diligent and all that shit. She had goals when she was nine. That silly little binder…”

“She kept that thing her whole life,” Emma commented. Despite herself, she found a smile was on her face more than she thought it would be. “Added to it, too. Tim showed me one Thanksgiving.”

A sad smile sat on Silvia’s lips. Nostalgic. Melancholic. Her eyes drifted somewhere past Emma. Miles and miles away. “He would have done anything to see her succeed where he couldn’t,” she muttered. Her hand landed on top of Emma’s again, fingers wrapping tightly around her daughter’s. “At first, it was nice. It made me think ‘well, this dude’s the fucking worst, but he loves our kid so I’ll deal with it.’ But then… it got worse, I suppose.” Her eyes snapped back to Emma, looking almost a little fearful. “After you came really, which wasn’t your fault at all obviously. I think Jane was just so much like him that you were bound to be like me, and the more he knew me the more he realized that it was a terrible fit… our family, that is.

“You were named after my mother, Emilia. Jane was his grandmother’s name, so I guess it was meant to happen the way it did.” Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what he did. Who he talked to or  _ what _ , but things started happening. He was gone all the time, so I can’t be sure. But there were… and I’m going to sound insane, so conejita, you’ve got to listen to me, okay?” Emma nodded. “Okay… there were these… shadows that kept showing up. Just in the corners of the room. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but they were too dark and disappeared as fast as they showed up.” Emma thought back on the nightmares Paul described to her. The black place. Dark and wet. Swallowing. Hopeless. “Then you started having dreams about… all the terrible things. Death and destruction. About the island getting blown to smithereens or a horrible plague coming and taking over everyone’s bodies. At first I thought you were watching too much TV, but then you started talking about the green man with the octopus face.”

“I was just having nightmares because of that stupid toy Jane had,” Emma informed her. It was a creepy stuffed animal their father had picked up for Jane. It sat right in the corner of her bed for years. Even when she went away to college, it sat there, facing the door. Watching. “That’s all.”

Silvia shook her head. “That’s what I thought,” she agreed. “Then I found Jane standing over your bed. You two were both so young. Jane was maybe thirteen. Not old enough to be holding any sort of grudge, but she… was mumbling something about you being wrong. That you needed to go, but it didn’t make sense. Jane loved you even when you tried to push her away. Even when you disappeared out of the country.” Silvia’s face looked pained. A little confused, too. Like she still couldn’t exactly put her finger on what happened. “Something changed that night. Everything started going extremely well for your sister. Straight A’s. Varsity sports. Club leader. Fucking drum major in band. I don’t know how it happened. People just thought we had this well rounded talented kid.” Eyes locked onto Emma’s wide and serious. “But Jane might as well have been tone deaf until she decided to take up trumpet her freshman year of high school.”

In and of itself, the sentiment was not that terrifying, but the implications of it were horrifying and a little unbelievable. Emma narrowed her eyes at the apparition of her late mother. “You were the musical one. Always drumming your little feet around and humming every single time you ate,” Silvia went on. “I remember thinking I was so happy for you to be good at something creative because lord knows you couldn’t do math to save your life.” Still true. She liked to have Paul double check the books from the shop every now and then just to be sure she and Zoey with their three brain cells combined had all their ducks in a row. Sometimes regardless of the triple checking they did at the shop, Paul still found errors. “But then your sister was suddenly so musical. A prodigy, and I know it sounds crazy, mija, but--”

“She started taking art classes before she died,” Emma quipped, staring off into the distance. “Tom told me, and her stuff was… really good.” A shiver ran down Emma’s spine. One of the last times they talked, Emma mentioned how the painting was so nice out on the beach. That the water was so blue and the sunsets were so beautiful. Jane mentioned she didn’t know Emma painted. When she said that she always had, Jane seemed a little perturbed. A little colder than she had been moments earlier when telling her about Tim and his little kid karate class. “I didn’t know she did that.” Thoughts of Tom mentioning her getting really into helping him when he did any sort of big woodworking project came to mind. How she was a natural. She could have just carved and put together the set of rocking chairs herself.

Silvia would look her in the eye. “When you left, I was angry,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you to go. You lashed out at me all the time and blamed me for everything.”

Emma’s heart suddenly felt heavy. “Mom, I didn’t--”

Fingers squeezed around Emma’s. “But I was relieved,” Silvia added. “When you started getting those roles in the shows in high school, Jane ranted for hours about how you didn’t even try to do anything. How you were a lazy little thing and were going nowhere. It… she wasn’t herself. That wasn’t her.” Emma thought about dreaming of Jane all fucked up and lunging at her, trying to get her to admit that her marriage was based on a foundation of embarrassment. “You left, and everything was worse. She came home from college and married that poor Houston boy to take him out of that terrible household. Then they had sweet Tim.” A small smile appeared. “He’s like you, you know. Stubborn. Funny. Terrible at math.” Emma couldn’t stop the laugh she barked out. “But she started talking to Tommy like he was a piece of garbage. Belittling him when all she had done before was praise him and how much he had grown. It was when he started gaining traction at the high school. He was thrilled. The happiest I ever saw him. They wanted him to do more and more things and then…” Her words trailed off like they had gotten stuck in her throat. “And then the crash happened, and he took over a year to go back. Lost all that traction.”

There was silence that passed between them. The same song had been repeating somewhere muffled in the distance.  _ Rhiannon _ by Fleetwood Mac, Emma decided. Over and over. Silvia had told Emma once about how the song was written about a good witch who was framed in all the wrong ways. A drifter who ruled the night and would protect those around her. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye, my little bunny girl,” Silvia whispered. She cupped Emma’s cheek in her hand. When they met eyes, hers were brimmed with tears. That of which Emma, once again, had never seen. “I have  _ always _ loved you, and I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.” She glanced over her shoulder, where Paul was still standing with Jack and Zoey, but there was another person with them now. The woman from her dream. Standing tall between the two brothers. A spitting image of the two. Silvia looked back at Emma. “He’s nice. Not what I imagined but nice.”

The lump had given way in Emma’s throat. She let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah, he’s too nice,” she amended her statement. Nicer than she deserved honestly. At least that was how she always thought of it.

Silvia’s thumb brushed along Emma’s cheek. “You love him,” she whispered. Emma nodded with a laugh, desperately blinking away tears. A bittersweet smile came over her mother’s face. She was youthful and radiant. So unlike the tired and downtrodden woman she knew. “Good.” Her lips pressed against Emma’s forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. It felt so good to be there in a place without anger and bitterness between them.

When she opened her eyes, there was still a hand on her cheek but a set of blue eyes staring back at her. Paul was kneeling on the ground in front of her. “Em?” he called out. Zoey and Ted lingered behind him, bickering about something. She looked between them and his eyes, landing on his face finally. “Are you okay?”

She just stared at him for a moment, thinking about all the times she had refused to settle down anywhere. To even sit still for a minute. It was why her mother had started referring to her as the little bunny.  _ “You’re like that bunny on the TV, mija. Always hopping around. Just sit down for one minute!” _ How she hadn’t wanted to stay with anyone for fear she would fall into a loveless routine like her parents had. She raised her hands to rest on either side of his face. This person who she had sort of known her entire life. Lingering at the fringes of her brightest and worst moments. He had always been there, waiting even if he didn’t realize it. She leaned in and kissed him. Softly. Tenderly. “Yeah,” she whispered against his lips, kissing him once more. “I’m good.”

He pulled back from her, laying a hand on top of one of hers. She could see the glow of the string lights bouncing off of his wedding band. “Are you sure?” he asked once more. “You were zoned out pretty hard there.”

She debated telling him about the daydream she had. Letting everything she had seen and heard spill out of her mouth. He was the only person he trusted to not look at her like she was crazy, but still, she thought better of it, nodding to reassure him that she was in fact okay. “I love you,” she told him quietly. “Like a fucking lot. I just want you to know.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Oh, thank god,” he played along. The fact that he got her and when she didn’t want to talk about something still floored her to this day. “I thought the whole wedding was just a front for the life insurance money.”

She sniffled through a laugh. “How much money are we talking here?” she wondered.

The pad of his thumb brushed away an errant tear. “Enough to buy Janis her own separate house I think,” he said. She wasn’t sure that was true but was entertained nonetheless. His palm rested against her cheek once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Once again, she nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she repeated, more convincing this time around to both him and herself. “Things are going to be okay.”

He narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side slightly. “Yeah, Em,” he agreed as his hand fell from her cheek to her knee. “Things are going to be good.”

She continued to nod, pursing her lips for a moment before they burst into a smile. “Good,” she stated. Plain old good, and sometimes, just plain old good was enough. Neither one of them was the best or the greatest and anything. They were good, and that was enough. They were enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk man I'm building my own Hatchetfield lore. Sorry, Lang Brothers, but I'm just going down my own road and I'm going to forget everything about androids and clones and car sex. 
> 
> (I'm not actually sorrry tbh)


	13. To Be Loved By You Feels So Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma get home from the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a few days, but things have been weird and rough at work so here we are now!
> 
> Things get mildly steamy in this guy but it's nothing graphic, friends!

Emma liked that their house was so quiet. She also liked that it was  _ their _ house. A house was never something she had expected to have. To be fair, the house was in Paul’s name. Dealing with the mortgage company to get her name on the deed was more trouble than it was proving to be worth, but for all intents and purposes, it was their house. The place they called home base together. That was exactly what it was, too: home. She couldn’t recall ever quite feeling like she had a  _ home. _ There was always a place to rest her head. A place where she kept all her shit and could come home at the end of the day and eat dinner. But this was her home. A place where she felt like she belonged. Where she felt wanted. Where she felt loved.

In all honesty, she liked the house from the first time she saw it. That very first moment they rolled up in his car with her mildly drunk, staring up at it in more awe than she had initially intended. Her heart sunk in her chest when she saw the light on upstairs. Either he had roommates or she had been barking up the wrong tree the whole time. Or behind door number three, this very nice, very  _ normal _ dude was an absolutely sleazeball. None of which she really wanted to deal with but there she was. Then she met the fucking cat, who she liked immediately even if she wouldn’t admit it. The little thing was lovely and sweet right off the bat even though he had warned her at one point that Janis was weird with strangers. While he had thrown a set of chicken tenders in the oven in the middle of the night, the cat had curled up right next to her, purring like mad. Despite being raised in a household that loved solely dogs, she found herself instantly fond of Janis.

Everything had stopped spinning at some point during the drive home. She still felt warm all over even though they had been outside for hours. When they got into the car, she looked at her phone for the first time in hours.  _ 1:48. _ The temperature had dropped low enough that the lace sleeves of her gown might as well have not even been there, and the reading her phone gave her made sense. Fifty-two degrees. She sat with her teeth chattering while he packed the last few things into the trunk of the car. In the rearview mirror, she watched him get scooped up into a hug by his brother. Though his eyes went wide, he ended up returning the hug tenfold. Eyes shut as his arms wrapped around Jack’s back tightly. By the time he got into the driver’s seat, she felt like it didn’t even matter what temperature it was outside, but he turned on the heat anyway without even uttering a word. 

She stood in the warmth of their bedroom, bare feet against the hardwood floor. The room was flooded with a comfortable glow from the two bedside lamps. Her reflection looked about as exhausted as she felt, but there was a little something extra. An excitement that was shining from within. A happiness. She hadn’t ever been so happy to just  _ exist. _ Things were good. She had a career, a shock in and of itself. She had a house. She had friends and family. She had a fucking husband. Her life was good. She wrapped her arms around herself, wondering for just a moment what would have happened had she never left the island like she did. 

The light in the hallway clicked off as footsteps climbed the stairs with quiet thuds. “Oh, good,” she could hear Paul chuckle while he rounded the banister. A pause. “No, it’s okay.” Another moment. He stepped through the doorway with his phone pressed to his ear. A smile was plastered across his face. It had been most of the night. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him smile so much. Although when she really thought about it, that wasn’t entirely true. He was often over the moon when he was around her. Even after a terrible day, there was always something she did that would bring the happiness back to touching his eyes. “Go to bed, idiot.” He held the phone between his cheek and his ear for just a moment when he stepped behind her, moving her hair away from her neck. “You’re drunk.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against the side of her neck. “Go to bed you--”

Before he could finish, she pulled the phone from his head enough for her to speak into the microphone. “Go to bed, motherfucker,” she hollered, glancing back to make eye contact with him. A smirk played on her lips. “Your brother’s about to get fucking laid.” The smile remained on his face, but his eyes went wide, brows raising. On the other side of the phone, his brother babbled excitedly about something. She couldn’t be fully sure because he was drunk and the phone was still pushed up against Paul’s ear. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

Another shout came from the other side of the phone. Paul looked down at her with a small grin. “He says you’re his favorite sister,” he informed her as his brother rambled on. “Goodnight, Jack.” Mid-rant, the phone cut the call off, and he reached past her to place it on the dresser. Their eyes caught once again in the mirror. The way he looked at her made electricity run lightly through her veins. She had been loved in her life, and she was certain she had come close to returning the sentiment. But not a single person she had ever met ever looked at her in such a way. Like she was the shiny red bicycle he so desperately wanted under the tree on Christmas morning. His hands came to rest on her shoulders. Thumbs pressed against her shoulder blades. “How are you?”

A simple question, but it was fair. The day had been long and arduous in a lot of ways. Filled with emotions. She leaned back into his touch, eyes sliding shut. “I’m good,” she answered quietly. There was a bit of magic in the quiet moments between them. Things were always so loud and crazy. Life didn’t stop for anyone. It was a train with no stops. However, some moments did pass by just a little more like slow motion. Like she was able to enjoy them. To soak them in. She leaned back slightly with eyes open now. Looking up, she found him staring right back. The smile on his lips had lessened from the bright one he had on when talking to his brother. It was slight but still full force. Just for her this time. “How are you?”

He glanced up at the ceiling and then tossed his head back and forth as if he were debating how he was actually doing that evening. It was a silly question on her part. He had been ear to ear beaming all day long. Even when tears were rolling freely down his face, he was smiling. “Well,” he started, letting the word drag out. His gaze came back to her. “I got to spend all day out by the lake, and it was beautiful out today.” A hand trailed down her exposed back. “My brother walked around tonight drunkenly singing Shania Twain, which was fucking hilarious.” He pressed a kiss into her hair, moving to rest his chin on top of her head afterward. “Other than that, pretty normal Saturday.”

She arched an eyebrow. “No shit?” she hummed.

He smirked with a nod. “Yes shit,” he confirmed.

With a soft elbow to his gut, she rolled her eyes. “Normal Saturday my ass,” she mumbled. The tears. The smiles. The touches in passing. The willingness to actually dance sober. Everything pointed to a day that was, in fact, not like a normal Saturday. Also, the look of absolute adoration on his face also gave away the fact that it wasn’t their standard weekend affair. She attempted to keep her faux annoyed face on but felt it melting right off of her face. A smirk came over her features. “Alright, big guy, can you get my zipper?”

His eyebrows shot up as if she had asked him to help her unzip her dress after the first date. “Oh… uh… yeah, okay!” he sputtered out. He was still a schoolboy who was absolutely smitten by her. Nervous in his way. He reached down to pull the zipper at her lower back down slowly. Did she really need help unzipping her dress? No, not really. Did she enjoy the look on his face, red and focused? Oh yes, absolutely she did. “You looked really beautiful today, Em.” It was a quiet admission. Not the first time he had said it that day, but it was the softest. The most personal. His fingers brushed against her skin as he unzipped her. Her eyes flicked up to the mirror, watching him intently as he focused on her dress. “Not that you don’t look beautiful on a normal day--”

“Oh, I thought this was just a  _ normal  _ Saturday?” she challenged. His eyes met her own in the mirror. The smirk on her lips quirked upward even more. She loved his eyes and made sure he was aware of that very early on. Laying in what was his bed early on a Tuesday morning. Knowing she had to go to work in a matter of a couple hours. Morning light pouring in through the windows. She had trailed her fingers down the side of his face.  _ “I like your eyes,” _ she whispered to him, causing him to crinkle his nose up and narrow said eyes at her.  _ “Don’t give me that shit. I do.” _ He rolled his eyes.  _ “Oh, fuck you. They’re beautiful, and I don’t fucking care what you say. I love them.” _ The words had rolled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her eyes went wide as did his. Another set of words found itself rolling up her throat. A steam train full speed ahead with no stops in sight.  _ “I love you.” _ And as she watched a smile creep over his face, one far calmer than it had been that Tuesday as they both called out of work, she felt her heart speed up in her chest. “So it  _ wasn’t _ a normal Saturday then?”

He shrugged, eyes falling back down to the zipper as it hit the bottom of the track. “I guess not,” he admitted. His fingers dipped just underneath the fabric to brush against her bare skin on her side. “You don’t get to marry your best friend on a normal Saturday I guess.” As much as she wanted to roll her eyes, she couldn’t disagree with him. Somewhere along the way, she not only fell in love with him, but he had become her best friend. Someone she still got excited to see. Who could make her laugh at any given moment and was a good sport about it even when it was at his expense. Who knew her inside and out like the back of his hand. Like a map of that stupid island town. Someone she loved to come home to. To sit and talk with for hours. About everything and nothing all at once. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Emma.”

A hand rested flat against her back, thumb trailing across her skin lightly. His cheeks were tinged pink. Eyes glazed over just slightly. She leaned into his touch, a shit eating grin on her face. “You get into the liquor cabinet down there, champ?” she wondered, secretly savoring his wam palm on her back. He broke his eyes from her like an embarrassed child. “I wish I could have been there to see your face when you took a shot of whatever you decided to drink.” She turned to face him, his hand falling from her waist. Her hands perched themselves at her hips. She narrowed her eyes up at him, chest to chest to stare him down. His eyebrows were raised once again, face flushed even more. “Rum? You got into the good rum, didn’t you?”

His brows knit together. “Uh… no?” he replied, though it wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t drink anything.”

Hands moved from her hips to his waist, pulling him flush against her. “You’re a terrible liar, Matthews,” she teased, resting her chin at the center of his chest. She stared up at him. It was hard to imagine he had been right there nearly her entire life. He had been in the peripherals of her life for so long. Even when he was right in front of her, she had a hard time paying him any mind. Had she not been so against any sort of commitment for the better part of her life she might have had more of what she had now. A house and a family. Even if that family was just some guy and a cat. It was happy. She had found some sort of happiness in her life. The thing she had been looking for most of her life. “You’re my best friend, too.” Her arms wound around his waist. Her smile softened. “Best I ever had.”

He placed a hand on her cheek like he often did. There were constant touches. Just light and mostly unconscious touches. Didn’t really matter when or where it was. Out with friends and his fingertips trailing across her shoulders. Sitting on the couch watching TV with his hand on her knee. Palm at her back while they walked through a doorway. She was pulled away from him slightly when he leaned down to meet her lips like he had so many times before. It was strange having a kiss she had experienced so many times that still made her feel like squealing with excitement. Like a schoolgirl whose crush looked at them a little longer than usual in the hallway. “You’re incredible,” he mumbled against her lips, kissing her again and again. “Like really--”

She shrugged out of the sleeves of her dress before bringing her hands up to his face. “Quit flattering me, nerd,” she muttered, yanking him back down to her. Her fingers threaded themselves in his hair. She felt him stumble and then find his footing with his hand against her bare skin. A strange combination of awkward and smooth all at once, but that was really his entire schtick. Very clumsy and bashful in his way but then oddly adept when put into this particular spot. “I think--” he backed her toward the foot of the bed, “--you should let me--” her legs hit the bed frame, “--finish getting out of this fucking dress, nerd.” Pulling up and away from her, he looked down at the sight before him. The bodice of her dress was crumpled at her hips. The skirt continued to drag against the floor below them. His hand trailed up from her waist, up the center of her abdomen, and between her breasts, which were very much braless. He was flushed and flustered. When she got into the dress earlier in the day, this was the exact reaction she had been hoping for. “Well, come on, cowboy. Giddy the fuck up.”

Without another word, he tugged the dress down over her hips to land in a heap at the floor. Their eyes met again. A fire burnt in the air between them. Smothering everything around them in a smoke she never wanted to leave. His hand found the back of her head, fingers twisting in her hair, mouth on hers once more. Fully. Confidently. She couldn’t stop the smile coming over her lips. Arms snaked around the back of his neck. “Emma,” he breathed between kisses. There was no follow up. Maybe there was going to be, but the words got lost in translation somewhere. Instead, he hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist in response. Her nails dragged along the back of his neck.

God, with this alone, they were already miles ahead of her own parents, who had been married for over thirty years. She had been so worried her entire life that they were the standard. That there was no love to be had in anything long term. If love did exist, it never got the chance to flourish. It was always snubbed out. She could remember watching Charlie Mayberry talk enthusiastically and Miss Betty, smiling his wide impossibly white smile the whole while. Betty would happily listen, leaning up against the kitchen counter with eyes bright. Always with a hand on her back. Arms around his shoulders. Quiet but knowing smiles. A quick kiss while the kids weren’t looking. But they didn’t get the chance to have their golden years. Watch their kids grow up. Grow old together in that beautiful house now in shambles. There was something to fear in love she decided so many years ago. Because good and true love didn’t last or got snuffed out by an outside force.

At this point, though, she was willing to fight anything that tried to rain on her fucking parade here because this was something worth fighting for. Just getting to spend each day feeling as happy as she did. Just getting to see and be with him every single day. It was all worth it. She would have liked to have some child having a clear mental break try to kill him. There was no doubt in her mind that the kid would leave their house with a less murderous mind and two horribly broken arms. “I love you,” she murmured into his mouth. This was the sort of love that was worth facing fears for. Worth taking chances to have. “I--”

Her words were cut off by him tripping over a pair of her shoes beside the bed. They both went toppling toward the bed. One of his arms flew out to brace them for impact as her back flopped against the mattress. Just when she was thinking this was going to be the night where he was able to keep it together, but what fun would that have been? She stared up at him, mouth slightly ajar. “Holy shit, Emma! Just put your shoes away!” he shouted, but it was nearly impossible for him to look angry. A little shaken, maybe. Just because he almost fell. But there was no true anger. She tossed her head back with laughter, Genuine belly laughter. The kind that boiled up straight from her gut. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much all day. “Stop laughing at me!”

As the laughter dissipated, her hands reached up to his cheeks. The touch was gentle. Thumbs traced over his cheekbones. She sat up slightly to get closer to his face. Eyes scanned over his face. Another kiss pressed against his lips. Tender and slow. “Then you have to stop trying to woo me with these smooth fucking moves, exlax,” she whispered, though the whisper dissolved into further giggles.

His lips fell over hers, not able to stifle her laughs. “You’re killing me,” he muttered between chaste kisses. She pulled him down to his elbows. One of his legs lifted off the ground, knee resting on the mattress beside her. “I can’t believe your shoes--”

“Listen, nerd,” she interrupted, a hand on the back of his neck. She eyed him in an attempt to look as serious as possible. “You’re wearing too many clothes. I don’t care if we almost both ate shit just now. We’ve got a goddamn marriage to consummate.” She brought her lips close enough they were brushing up against each other as she spoke. “And I want to get railed so fucking good I can’t remember my fucking name.”

“Those are pretty tall orders,” he replied, voice taking a turn from the feign annoyance it was wearing earlier.

“Well, you’re pretty fucking tall, so hop to it.”

After a beat of silence, he ducked his face into her neck. It was his turn to laugh, which turned into periodic kisses against her neck. She was smiling like a fool up at the ceiling. Everything was a little surreal. This wasn’t meant to be her thing. She was the one who was meant to spend her days as an old spinster, which certainly wouldn’t have been a terrible way to go. Adventuring around the world. Seeing where the wind would take her. But there was also something appealing about not waiting on a change in the current to take her somewhere new. To have a partner to share in those adventures with. She joined in his laughter, feeling his arms wrap around her back.

“You’re a trip,” he muttered into her neck between his chuckles. “A real fucking piece of work, Mrs. Nerd.”

“Yeah, but you  _ love _ me, Mr. Nerd.”

He backed out of her neck, so he could look down at her. His fingers brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he agreed. Once again, his smile had turned with something aside from the joking that had just ensued. It was the smile she found on his face when he thought she didn’t notice him watching her. The one he wore when she would get home from work and talk about the arrangements she had put together for whatever event was coming up. The one he used to give to her back at the coffee shop.

The one that read very simply:  _ god, I love you. _


	14. We Got Everything We Need Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have breakfast in bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the penultimate chapter, my friends! I hope you all are staying healthy and safe ❤️

When Emma woke up, she didn’t feel any warmth around her, save for the comforter over her bare body. No warm arms or chest pressed against her. Just soft blankets wrapped around her with the sun shining against her face. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, pulling the blankets up over her head before rolling over to both Paul. However, she found nothing but a cool spot where he would normally be on a Sunday morning instead of his body. It was likely late enough already that he had been up for an hour, but on Sundays in particular, he would sit in bed reading after he got his cup of coffee while he waited for her to wake up. Quiet sips taken as he scrolled through his phone, eyes still tired behind his glasses.

This morning was different, though. She let her eyes crack open just slightly to find his side of the bed neatly made. The sunlight was bright, filling the room. It was probably going to be another beautiful day. Just as it had been the day before. Of course, it wouldn’t be  _ quite _ as beautiful. Emma a decade earlier would have wanted to vomit at the sentiment, but as things were she just buried her smiling face into her pillow. Young Emma would have been disgusted at this stupid lovesick nerd.

The front door screeched open downstairs. Rustling floated up through the house while shoes were gently toed off. Floorboards on the steps creaked underneath soft sock-covered footfalls. Their bedroom door gently swung open, and she turned on her side to find him standing at the threshold, shrugging off his jacket while he held a plain brown paper bag in his hand. “Morning,” he greeted with a grin. He looked as if he had gotten a full night’s sleep, but she was fairly certain it was still relatively early in the morning. It couldn’t have been much past nine. They really hadn’t gotten to bed until well into the night. Well, maybe she would have considered it more of the morning. The point still stood: it was a late night, and he was bright eyed and bushy tailed, having already left the house today. 

An enticing aroma rolled over, sending her stomach growling. “Morning,” she mumbled, returning his smile. Seeing him in his sweater and jeans made her suddenly aware of how naked she was underneath the blankets. She stretched her arms up over her head, feeling a little like Janis in the morning. Extending as far as she could to expel the sleep from her body. The bed beside her sank down when he came over to sit beside her. She nodded toward the bag. “What you got in there, big guy?”

He grinned wider while pulling his legs up underneath him to sit cross legged. “I figured you drank a lot last night,” he started as he began to pull the paper open. The morning sunlight hit softly against his features. A warm yellow glow that framed him almost like an angel. Product hadn’t hit his hair yet. He was wearing that dumb red sweater she liked so much. His eyes looked tired but were still shining with the same effervescent happiness she had seen sparkling in the blue the day prior. “So I thought you  _ might _ be feeling like shit today.” He wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wouldn’t tell him that her head felt like it was filled with packing peanuts and her tongue felt like sandpaper. “And nothing helps quite like a breakfast sandwich.”

From the bag, he produced a small parcel wrapped in a wax paper bag. She found herself scrambling upward despite the sloshing feeling in her stomach, pulling the blankets up with her. “Oh, fuck yeah,” she cheered with just as bright a smile as his. The sandwich in the bag was still warm. He must have sped home from the bagel shop. Already making punches in his doting husband card. When their hands brushed against each other in the sandwich handoff, a cool metal brushed against her skin along with a realization smacking into her mind. She was fucking married. “You get me.”

He pulled a second sandwich from the bag and then a styrofoam container, likely containing homefries. Flattening the bag and placing it on the bed between them, he laid out the container so they could both easily reach it. “Yeah, and the bagel people do, too,” he commented with a nod as he unwrapped his sandwich. Mid-unwrap, he turned to look at her with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. “I guess a bacon, egg, and cheese with extra bacon, jalapenos, onions,  _ and  _ a shit ton of hot sauce on an everything bagel is pretty memorable if it’s being ordered every single Saturday.”

“Listen, Lou loves me and knows how to take care of ya girl,” she shot back. She peeled back the paper and marveled at the house made hot sauce dripping down the sides of her bagel. “She and Jo helped a struggling hungover mall elf so many Saturday afternoons. I think I  _ might _ have dabbled in child murder if it wasn’t for them.” She took a bite, savoring just flavors on her tongue. Smoke from the bacon. Bright and green from the jalapenos. A sweet caramel from the onions. A satisfying heat from the red sauce. “They also make the sauce in house because Jo is a beautiful and magical human who knows her way around some fucking peppers.”

His jaw bobbed up and down as he chewed at his own sandwich. Likely a turkey sausage, egg white, and cheddar with ketchup. Because he was clearly not struggling with the alcohol from the night before. Granted, she could’ve been doing worse. This was not nearly as bad as she felt most of the times she had picked up that very same breakfast sandwich on her way over to the mall to entertain a parade of screaming, crying children. Sometimes, though, she did get to see a stupid nerd face watching her quietly from the window of the Barnes & Noble Starbucks cafe all while her stomach desperately tried to send her sandwich back up. “They  _ did _ tell me if I did anything to you that they’d find me and kill me,” he explained through a half chewed mouthful. “Also Jo told me I was a… wimpass bitch?” The statement came out as more of a question than he meant it to, but it sent her into a fit of laughter that almost caused her to choke on her mouthful. “Because I couldn’t handle her hot sauce.”

“It’s not that spicy, dude,” she replied, running her finger along the edge and then to her lips to consume the excess sauce. “This is nothing compared to some of the shit I had in Guatemala--”

“Yes, Emma, we get it,” he huffed through another bite of his sandwich. “I was raised on tuna noodle casserole and lasagna that didn’t have garlic in it.”

She pinched her face in disgust at him. “See, that one gets me more than anything else,” she told him, peeling the paper a little further back on her sandwich. “No garlic? I know your mom isn’t a good person, but that’s  _ so _ unforgivable. Italian food without garlic? Is Astrid Satan himself?”

His brows raised while he shook his head. “No, not even  _ Satan _ would force his children to eat lasagna without garlic,  _ or _ even worse: gluten and dairy free lasagna with shitty things subbed in,” he said solemnly. “You should have seen the first time I had garlic bread at Ted’s house as a kid. My mind was blown. Not only was it bread, which obviously didn’t play into whatever kooky health kick my mom was on at that point, but it was garlic. There was cheese. I just about shit my pants.”

With a small sideways smile, she lifted her hand to grasp his chin. At first, he hadn’t been super open about his family. She had known he had a grandmother who passed away and at least two brothers. Jack she met fairly early on. He was a little high strung like Paul had the tendency to be but with a little bit more of a frat boy’s personality. Overall, though, he was a tolerable human. One that she would grow fonder of as the years went by. His parents, though, were another story. After many a drink one evening, he ended up spilling most of it. The unrealistic expectations his father put on all four of the boys. How he never lived up to anything his father wanted him to be. Being beaten down mercilessly by just his father at first and then eventually his brothers. The older ones at least. Jack was more of a sidelines player, just lingering off in the distance. Frozen to do anything else. His mother was distant and cold. Always using her children as a ploy to get some sort of social standing in the higher society of Hatchetfield. She was long and fit and beautiful and wanted nothing less for her children. In came the fad diets. Not that they even were diets. They took all the fun out of food. No gluten. No dairy. No potatoes. Pork. Chocolate. Even fucking peanuts. None of the boys had any allergies, but she always played like they did. That their moods would be thrown off by having a single slice of cheese. That Paul’s depression or Jack’s later diagnosed ADHD were solely caused by the foods they barely had in their diets to begin with. He admitted that night that he only picked up the paperboy gig to get out of the house everyday, but he was simultaneously terrified because of the Dateline episodes he sneakily watched at night. But the risk was worth it in the end for him, making Emma’s heart shatter into a million pieces. 

“Good news,” she announced, pulling his face in towards hers to press a light kiss to his lips. Pink had tinged his cheeks at the discussion turning in the direction of his childhood. “I’ll put extra garlic  _ and _ gluten in the garlic bread, and you can have all the cheese you want.” He smiled with a slight chuckle as he repositioned himself. A hand reached out for a homefry, which was promptly popped into his mouth. “Breakfast in bed, though? What will we  _ ever  _ do about the crumbs, Paul?”

A little levity returned to his features. “Well,” he began but stopped himself with a chuckle. His thumb toyed with the edge of the parchment paper. “I figured it was a special occasion, so--” he gestured to the set up, which, in and of itself, was quite unconventional. He was in full fall attire. Jeans. Undershirt. Sweater. Scarf still around his shoulders. Sitting criss cross at the top of the bed, munching away at his sandwich. All the while, she was still buttass naked with the blankets pulled all the way over her body as if she had to be modest. Like he hadn’t seen literally  _ all of it _ just a mere matter of hours beforehand. “--breakfast in bed.”

She nodded, accepting his explanation. She tossed a homefry into her own mouth but not before their hands knocked together. “Watch it, punk,” she warned with a faux glare thrown in his direction. He snorted while placing a potato in his mouth. Silver shined brightly in the morning sun. She jutted her chin out in his direction. “Nice ring.”

He raised his brows again and looked down at his hand. It was like he hadn’t even noticed it was there. Like it was already second nature for him. This dude was absolutely, fully head over heels for her, and sometimes, she still couldn’t believe it. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some girl in a dress gave it to me yesterday, and then, guess what she did after that?” His tone was exaggerated in a way that sounded like she was a child he was telling a story. 

A part of her wondered if he was able to read her in the same way she read him. If the love and warmth he created in her heart translated in ways she wasn’t all too adept at speaking. The smile across her face grew even wider. “I have no fucking clue,” she answered. But she did know. She was very aware of what the lady in the dress did next. And how the lady in the dress felt. And what the lady in the dress saw. She knew it all.

He leaned in closer to her, bringing his voice down low. “She married me,” he whispered. 

“No fucking way,” she gasped while chomping down on her sandwich, still glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “She fucking  _ married  _ you?”

“I know. I didn’t believe it either, but she did.” He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like a lovestruck teenager. “Hottest girl in the world married  _ me.” _

A blush crept onto her cheeks despite her best efforts. The flattery should have stopped at some point, but years in, he was still fucking at it on a regular basis. “You’re the biggest fucking nerd I’ve ever met, you know that?” she snorted but continued beaming over at him.

Rolling his neck, he looked down at her, back still pressed flat against the headboard. “Yeah, but I’m  _ your _ nerd now,” he corrected. “Your contractually bound nerd.” She rolled her eyes. “We made a deal, kid.” He raised his left hand to wave around. “For better or worse, right?”

She shook her head. “Nope, I never said that,” she shot back. “I never once said ‘for better or worse’.”

Once more, he shrugged. “You sure did have a lot to say last night,” he muttered with a smirk.

“Listen, what I say in the heat of the moment cannot be used against me in a court of fucking law, okay, buddy?”

“Maybe in a court of  _ fucking _ law.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his stupidity. One day in and he was already getting smug. She arched a brow. “Well, we could always see what I have to say today,” she offered. He narrowed his eyes in response. “We could always pack up these sandwiches for later,  _ you _ could get out of those clothes, and then y’know, get back into bed to… see what either one of us has to say.”

Humming, he took another bite of his sandwich. “Compelling offer,” he admitted.

It was her turn to narrow her eyes at him. He continued nibbling on his sandwich, bobbing his head back and forth like he was contemplating her idea. “I swear to fucking god, Paul,” she grumbled. Hands moved quickly to wrap up her sandwich and then place that with the home fries on her nightstand. The blankets fell from her easily once she wasn’t holding them up. She moved toward him, tossing a leg over his lap in order to straddle his hips. He stared at her wide eyed with a full mouth. “Are we going to fuck or what?”

She grabbed the sandwich from his hand to place on his nightstand. “I… um... we…” his words trailed off as she toyed with the hem of his shirt. She tugged the red fabric up and over his stomach. Leaning forward, he aided her in pulling it up and over his head. Well, both shirts. The sweater and the undershirt came off as one. She didn’t have time for teasing bullshit this morning. “Okay… um, yeah. Yes.”

“Good answer, hubbo.”

A hand came up to rest at her hip. It wasn't something he consciously did either. Just a natural movement his body had grown accustomed to. His thumb glided over the curve of her hip. Fingers curled around her ever so slightly. Each move was soft and gentle. Nothing out of the norm. Nothing earth shattering. Something she had also grown used to. Something she had grown to love. He stared at her in wonder. "I can't believe you married me," he whispered. His other hand found her cheek, fingers tangling with her curls falling wildly all around her head.

"Believe it, baby cakes," she responded, kissing his lips softly. "You're stuck with me now, nerd." The teasing grin wavered on her face. Mostly because it wasn't something she was joking about. She had married him because she loved him. She married him because the whole marriage thing was important to him no matter how much he tried to deny it. She married him because the idea of waking up next to anyone else felt like a death sentence. She married him because she had fallen deeply and truly in love with this enormous sap. Her eyes scanned over his face, meeting his in an intense but magical gaze. Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I'm in this for the long haul."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been super rad leaving such wonderful comments and I appreciate them so much.
> 
> I also appreciate you, lurker! I hope you enjoy 😊


	15. Epilogue: I Guess That This Must Be the Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse over the following few years of our favorite nerds' lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, friends, we've made it to the end!

The light music playing through the air of _From the Meadow_ was normally a welcome distraction. A little Jack Johnson or Laura Marling in Emma’s day was often a break from the blathering that came in and out of the store. However, despite her best efforts, the light strumming of George Harrison wasn’t doing it for her that day. She could feel her eye begin to twitch. No amount of the repetition of _‘My Sweet Lord’_ over and over again could make her feel at ease in that moment.

“I just _don’t_ understand what the issue would be with getting a few dozen bouquets of Juliet roses would be,” Linda Monroe drolled on in the back of the shop. Emma had been listening to her go on about one overpriced flower after another. It was like the woman had gone onto the internet and picked out each and every flower off of a list of the most expensive. The Juliet roses were the ones she was stuck on, though. Likely because of the display she had put up with similar flowers for a local wedding. Beautiful soft pink roses everywhere in beautiful arrangements. The wedding had brought a lot of local business her way, which brought up a lot of unpleasant childhood memories, learning her old schoolmates were still in town, but Linda was by far the worst.

She leaned up against the wall beside a fridge holding a few premade bouquets often picked up by the occasional person on their way home from work on a Friday night. It was always for their partners who had worked so hard all week or had just had a tough streak of luck. While she would never admit it, there was something joyful that swelled up inside her knowing she might have helped someone’s week get a little better. Her arms crossed over her chest. She twisted the rings on her finger. “Well, Linda, the _issue_ is that the price of shipping those flowers in wouldn’t be cost effective for what I would be making in return,” she explained, aggravation growing in her voice. “So unless you’re willing to pay fifty percent more than the market price, you’ll just have to settle for the Phoebe rose, which looks almost identical.”

Linda’s hand flew to her chest as if she had just received the worst possible news in the world. “Emma,” she gasped. The gigantic rock of an engagement ring blinded Emma in the waning evening light. Orange glowed in through the large glass storefront. She glanced back at the door, willing the time to tick by faster from the last time she had gotten to glance at her phone, before turning back to Linda. “There’s _no_ replacing a Juliet rose, and you were able to ship them in for that event--”

“I didn’t, though. That’s the whole f… _friggen_ thing,” Emma groaned, tossing her hands out in front of her. “I didn’t. They were Phoebe roses, and they were what the grooms and I agreed on because they weren’t nearly as expensive as the goddamn Juliet roses, which they did bring in pictures of.” That was the truth. Not that they were dead set on those flowers. It was just part of a whole vision board, but Linda didn’t need to know that. “So it’s going to be fucking Phoeboe roses or bust, Linda.”

Paul liked to remind Emma that swearing at her customers probably wasn’t the best way to endear people to her. To which, she liked to remind him that her fucking winning personality did that for her, asshole. Linda’s face twisted with disgust. Her tiny store bought nose pinched, and Emma could just remember the blood pouring out of the old one after she punched her square in the face for acting like a damn fool. To be honest, Emma couldn’t even remember what Linda had said, but she was fairly certain the punch had been earned. “Excuse you?” she spat out.

The Paul on her shoulder said to try to smooth it over with Linda, but the loud Emma screaming in her ear from the other shoulder was far louder. She narrowed her eyes. “Did I stutter, Linda?” she asked in a low even tone. There was about to be a sequel to the high school locker room. She could feel it in her bones. “Or do you need to find a third husband to buy you solid gold fucking hearing aides?”

If this had been a cartoon, Linda would have looked like an old fashioned thermometer shooting up in temperature. Slide whistle and all. Emma watched her nearly short circuit looking for the right words to shoot back at her. Linda wasn’t an idiot, a fact Emma was very well aware of, but always seemed to be left at a loss for words around Emma. Maybe she was always silently nervous about getting punched again. That was what Emma liked to think. But part of her also wanted to think that Linda would push it harder one of these days. Push her just hard enough to deck her so hard that her veneers would pop right out of her stupid face.

As quickly as the annoyance had hit her face, a smile twisted out onto Linda’s face. An empty smile. One that didn’t hit her eyes. Like a soccer mom chatting with other parents at some kid’s birthday party. “Well, _Emma,_ ” she began. The words slid through her teeth along with her disdain for Emma in general. “If you _really_ plan on doing business in this town, you should know who exactly runs it.” A beat passed between them. “It’s not like when we were children, Emma. You can’t just get away with murder anymore.”

Like some sort of guardian angel was watching out for Emma’s fists, the bell jingled as the front door swung open. Without being able to look over and greet whoever had just walked in, a small loud voice carried through the air. “Mama!” the voice squealed. Her head snapped in the direction of the door, where a headful of chestnut curls bounced toward her. “Look!” A head of curls and a painted, albeit smudged, skull on the face attached. Blue eyes popped out behind the black makeup. “Look!” 

A sheet of paper with scribbled stick figures with barely recognizable features was thrust upward. Emma’s aggravation immediately began to dissipate. “Wow, look at that,” she replied, grabbing the paper with both hands. “What a cool drawing, dude.” She looked down at the little skeleton. “You did this?” A nod was given to her. “No way? This is awesome. Is it for me?” Another nod. “Oh man, thank you so much, sweet girl.”

“Dan, c’mon,” another voice came from the door. Exasperated. She glanced up from the paper to the doorway. The sight had her biting back at a laugh. There was Paul. The same Paul she had met years ago. The one who ineffectively flirted with her at the coffee shop. Who gazed longingly at some grumpy mall elf. Who refused to kiss her drunk after their first date. He was still there, and no less, he held the tiny hand of a shy little face, who was hiding behind his leg, while attempting to balance another small frame in his other arm. “Mama’s working. Get back here.”

The skeleton looked back at Paul and then to her once more. “Mama, that’s you and Daddy and me and Liza and Nina,” the high pitched voice continued, explaining the picture in Emma’s hands. Blue eyes shifted to Linda who was watching on in complete shock. “Hi, lady.” Back to Emma. “We’re pumpkins but a family of pumpkins. See!” A finger came up over the paper to point to the longest figure. “That’s Daddy because he’s tall!”

“Dani girl, we’ve got--”

Emma held up a hand to him. “No, that’s okay,” she muttered, eyes refusing to look up from the paper. “We’re closed.” Eyes flicked up to Linda, whose brows had knit together in confusion. “We’re _closed.”_ With one arched brow, Linda’s mouth opened to shoot some sort of half-baked nicetie back at Emma, but she was promptly cut off. “Ma’am, we’re closed, and you should leave.”

Heat flushed to Linda’s face, making her look like an overly tan blonde tomato. “I would watch myself if I--”  
“Hey, Linda?” Paul called from the far side of the shop. They both glanced over in his direction. He was mostly unassuming as he usually was. The smallest child was squirming around against his forearm, pressing chubby palms against his chest in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. He pulled his hand from the one holding his, sending the second little one freewheeling into the store, in order to wave at Linda. “Hi. Yeah, so Dan was wondering if you were going to call him back or…?”

Eyes went wide. “I have no idea what--”

“I don’t know either. He just mentioned it the other day.” Emma knew it was bullshit. There was no way he was talking to that brother, but Jack did occasionally dabble in familial connection, then ultimately spilling all the dirt to Paul. The last he had heard, there was something hinky going on between Dan and Linda, which wasn’t shocking given Linda’s personal history. To be fair, though, it sounded like it happened in between the Gerald and Gary years, so she was a free agent while Dan was still very much married to her sister. “Figured I’d ask.”

Linda’s gazed flicked between Emma and Paul, anger growing with each movement of her eyes. Maybe it was something about the relationship that was there. That was very clearly happy and content with what it was. They had a very normal life. Their days went along with routines and habits. Emma had somehow found herself in the life that she pictured Jane wanting, though she never really had it. It was a life she never wanted for herself, but once it fell into her lap, she really didn’t mind too much. Perhaps it was that life that had Linda so flustered and aggravated. Maybe it was because Linda Monroe was jealous, a thought that had Emma rolling with laughter in her head.

A huff escaped Linda as she reached a well manicured hand into her oversized purse. An iPhone materialized from the depths of the bag. She glared in Paul’s direction with a clearly disingenuous smile on her face. “Well, Peter--”

“Paul,” he interjected.

She rolled her eyes and began moving through the shop, scrolling through her phone idly as if she were bored with the situation. His eyes caught Emma’s across the room with brows raised. A look of amusement played on his features behind the mask of exhaustion, and he _did_ look tired. She probably did, too. Exhausted but satisfied. Like the feeling after a delicious three course meal. “Well, _Paul,_ I believe you must have misunderstood whatever was said to you,” Linda insisted, sliding her phone back into her purse. “I wouldn’t go passing misinformation around.”

“Alright, Linda, call Monday,” Emma grumbled without taking her eyes off of Paul. “We’re--”

“Mama!” Dani hollered while tugging on Emma’s arm. She glanced down taking in the soft fair face of the little girl before her. Beneath the mostly smudged face paint, there was a whole series of constellations worth of freckles smattered all over the little face. Pink cheeks and big blue eyes. Those eyes were narrowed up in her direction at that moment. “Work time is over. We’re going home for dinner. That’s what Daddy said.”

\--------

They were perched at opposite ends of their bathroom. Emma on the edge of the bathtub with the blue shower curtain pulled back. Paul up against the wall across from her, quietly biting at the skin on the side of his thumb. “I think it’s been five minutes,” he commented quietly. The silence between them had been deafening. There wasn’t much of that usually. They were constantly chattering about everything and nothing all at once, but something had struck both of them speechless.

She squeezed a fist against her knee. In her entire life, she couldn’t remember feeling as anxious as she did sitting at the side of the tub. Not once in her whole life did she feel as uptight about what was going to happen next. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. The old bath mat was fraying at the edges. Orange threads were splitting off in all different directions much like all the different scenarios that were playing out in her head. It was the worst fucking choose your own adventure book she had ever experienced. She glanced up at Paul. “You look at it,” she insisted.

His eyebrows shot up. “Me?” he replied incredulously. A hand flew up to his gesture in order to gesture to himself. “Why me?” She shrugged. It was the loudest he had gotten with her when they weren’t drunk or trying to talk to each other over music or a TV. His eyes were wide and mildly terrified. She could hear the anxiety creeping up in his voice. It felt like sitting in the eye of the storm. Like things were about to explode. “I wasn’t the one who peed on it!”

It was another snow storm. Late in the season to be as heavy as it was. They had both come home early from work. While he had been blissfully relieved to have gotten back to the house before the snow really started coming down, she had been sitting at the kitchen island nervously picking at a thread hanging off one of the sleeves of her shirt. The smile fell from his face when their eyes met. Worry had washed over his features. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. Or at least off. He knew her enough to realize this was very much not the norm.

So, there they were. Staring each other down across the bathroom. Wide-eyed and terrified. “I don’t know, Paul!” she sighed back at him, throwing her arms down at her sides. A lump had risen in her throat. She could feel her cheeks growing pink. Something in her was angry. Not necessarily at him. Well, maybe a little. The whole situation was in part his fault. Truthfully, though, she wasn’t even sure the root of the feeling was anger or if it was just manifesting that way. He told her once that anger was a secondary emotion after discussing it at a therapy session one day. She rolled her eyes that night, but was starting to see the merit in the statement. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I just… I _can’t._ ”

He ran both hands through his hair and then back over his face, which was beet red beneath his palms. “Emma,” he muttered between his hands. Fingers pressed against his eyelids. “I… don’t even know what to do.” There was a tension in the room she had never felt with him. This hadn’t been a part of the plan. Not that she ever had one, but he was one to basically diagram every part of his life. He liked to know what was going on and when and where it would take place at any given point in time. “This… I thought this wasn’t--”

“What? You think _I_ wanted this?” she snapped back at him. He peeked from behind his hands at her. “Do you think this was all some sort of grand fucking scheme I had going on? I didn’t fucking want this. I don’t…” The words got lost in her throat. The tears began to spill from her eyes. It wasn’t what she fucking wanted. This was Jane’s fucking life through and through. She didn’t know how to do any of it, yet there she was feeling like someone who had lied their way to the top. Like she falsified some document that greatly overestimated her credentials in order for her to get to the position she was currently in. “Paul, I don’t know what to do.”

The agitation that had been in his eyes since they had talked down in the kitchen dissipated slightly at her distress. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay,” he mumbled, bringing his thumb and forefinger back up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” His hand dropped, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.” He began taking slow steps toward the counter of the vanity. Fingers tapped together rhythmically. Thumb to index finger. Then to middle finger. Then ring finger. Then pinky before moving back in the opposite direction. It was something he had started doing not too long beforehand. He said it helped him think. Something about counting and being similar to counting sheep while trying to fall asleep. He looked over in her direction. “I’ll look, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered. She wasn’t one to feel like this. Like she was some helpless little girl who was afraid of a monster under her bed. Her hands splayed out across her thighs, nails digging in against her jeans. There was no monster under her bed. There might have been no monster at all, but if there was, it was hiding beneath her skin. Though, maybe it wasn’t anything terrifying at all. Just a screaming scared being just like the two of them. Each movement he made was torturously slow. She knew it was because he knew that by looking down at the small piece of plastic that had been sitting between them was some fucked up line of demarcation. Depending on what the result told them, there was a real chance that things would change forever. He stared down at the counter for a long time. It felt like an eternity. In reality, it was likely only a couple of seconds, but she wanted answers immediately. His brows furrowed the longer he gazed down. “What’s it say?”

\--------

“What did Daddy say we’re having for dinner?” she questioned, playing into the excitement that was evident on the little girl’s face. A force came crashing against the side of her leg, nearly sending her right into a display of baby’s breath. She glanced down at her leg to find a little bee grasping around it tightly. One of her hands fell onto the back of a head, toying with a pin straight chocolate pigtail. “Do _you_ know what we’re having for dinner, little bee?”

A face buried against the side of her knee. “Nuggets,” the little honey bee answered.

“Excuse me--”

“Linda, we’re closed. What part of that did you not understand?” Emma snapped. She gestured toward the door. “It’s after business hours. Call Monday morning, and we’ll sort everything out.” She didn’t wait for a response from the other woman before scooping up the little bee attached to her leg. Eyes shifted over to the fuming blonde. “Have a good weekend, and don’t forget to call Dan--” She didn’t have a chance to finish before the door slammed shut behind Linda as she stormed down the sidewalk. Emma looked to the child in her arms. “Well, that wasn’t very nice, huh?”

By the door, Paul struggled to balance the backpack and messenger bag in one arm and the child in the other while attempting to lock the door. “That was weird,” he huffed as the lock clicked into place. He reached the weighed down arm to flip the open sign to closed. The little one in his arms muttered something to him. The frustrated focus on his face softened. He kissed her forehead. “I know, bean. We’re going home soon.”

She found herself a little entranced watching him sometimes. How he would seem utterly exhausted one second and then life seemed to bloom all over his face the next. It was hard for her to believe she had only really known him for only slightly over a decade. Some nights, she found herself awake in the middle of the night. Usually, she would turn over to face him. There were soft lines she could make out in the dark of a lightly sleeping face. Gentle and unassuming features. Occasionally, she would reach out to softly trace over his cheek with her fingers. Only a decade, but she could have loved him her whole life.

Arms wrapped around her neck to bring her out of her trance. “Mama,” the bee whined in her ear before burrowing into her neck. “Mama, Daddy said we have nuggets for dinner, okay?” The embrace was tight. Like they had been reunited after weeks of being apart. In reality, they had seen each other very briefly before Emma slipped out of the house. She had been sitting on a stool with a half soggy piece of toast dangling from her mouth as she gazed at a cartoon playing on Paul’s phone when Emma kissed the top of her head lightly that morning. _“Love you, Mama,”_ she had mumbled without looking away from the show. _“Say hi to the pretty flowers.”_

“Just nuggets?” Emma wondered. The little girl shook her head in Emma’s neck. “No? Are we having… broccoli and nuggets?” Another head shake, this time accompanied by a giggle. “What about… pig’s feet and nuggets?” A little squeal rang out against her neck. “Okay, maybe it’s… liverwurst and nuggets?”

The girl emerged from her neck with a smile twisted up on her face. “No, Mama!” she shouted, both hands coming up to rest on Emma’s cheeks. “Fre’fries and nuggets! Daddy said so!” Emma looked at her, staring into deep earthy pools of eyes. The same eyes she looked at every day in the mirror. The same eyes that had been given to her by her own mother. At first, she had been upset that there wasn’t another set of baby blue eyes staring back up at her. All she had wanted was for all of them to be like Paul. Kind and gentle and mild-mannered with those giant blue saucer eyes, but that evidently wasn’t the case. 

She brushed a stray lock of hair out of the little face. “Is that right?” she hummed, glancing over at Paul, who shrugged in response. It was likely a negotiation that came out in the ride over to the shop from Bill’s, where Alice had so graciously offered to babysit until they were both off of work. Whining and moaning until Paul agreed to chicken nuggets and french fries for dinner. “Now, you wouldn’t have anything to do with how that would you, Li?”

Brown eyes widened as the little one shook her head. Eliza. A quiet nod to his grandmother, whose brother had been lost many years earlier. Many years before even Paul’s parents had even been a thought. “No, Mama,” Dani groaned. “Liza didn’t do _anything_ . I wanted nuggets, and Daddy said it was okay, right, Daddy?” She looked over in Paul’s direction. He sighed and gave them the smallest nod he possibly could. Emma bit back a smile. He was out of steam and definitely was going to be passed out on the couch by seven PM. “See? It was _me.”_

Emma grinned back down at the little Eliza, who was now resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “Alright, little E bee, I guess you’re off the hook for this one,” she said, leaning her own cheek against Eliza’s head. It had come as a shock how easy she had been. Jack had mentioned that the second one was always easier, but this was a whole other level. Dani had been a nightmare. Never sleeping. Always screaming. Nothing ever seemed to fall into place for the first year of her life. Eliza, on the other hand, felt like an angel fell from the heavens directly into their laps. Quiet and sweet. Almost patient with them as they tried to juggle both children. “Are you excited for your nuggets, though?”

A grin came over the tiny features. “Yeah,” Eliza replied with a contented sigh. “I love nuggets but not as much as you, Mama.”

\--------

Quiet were the mornings they had when Alice and Deb would take the shrieking little Dani, who was apparently much better behaved for the girls than she was for them. The days were few and far between because they still wanted to make sure that, despite their clear frustrations with the temper tantrums and the general disobedience, she knew how much they loved her. A lot of the days were difficult, but Emma in particular tried to hold onto those little moments where big blue eyes rimmed with red from tears stared up at her in absolute wonder. The quiet moments where she would curl up in her lap and hum a little nonsensical tune while tracing patterns against the arm of the couch. 

But it was nice to get a moment’s rest here or there. Paul had himself wrapped around her back. Skin pressed to skin. The light in their bedroom was soft and white. According to the weather the night before, the sky was to remain overcast with a slight chill in the breeze. She would have been happy to spend the entire day wrapped up between the blankets and him. In all honesty, she probably could have gotten her wish. They just had to wait on the call from the girls to pick Dani up. Other than that, they were free agents. A smile came over her lips as he pressed a soft kiss against the back of her neck. “Morning,” he muttered against her skin.

Their lives had been made drastically different… at least at first they were. Suddenly, they were the boring friends. Never being invited much of anywhere by anyone. They had a kid, so it limited how much people really wanted to do with them. It was something she had feared for a long time. Finally making friends and then having them bail. Somehow, though, those friends found themselves roped back in. Ted begrudgingly joined Charlotte for Friday night dinner every now and then. Thoroughly enjoying drinking all their beer and eating all their food. Melissa eventually found herself there most Saturday nights. Describing all her escapades from the previous months. Having a squirmy Dani curled up in her lap most of the night. 

Emma, though, was not as dismayed as she thought she would be. There was a strange contentedness in her little bubble that she had never really known. She had been on the move so much of her life that the thought of settling in anywhere was terrifying. Staying in one place with the same person day in and day out had been a horrifying thought, but once she was there, she found there was no place she would rather be on a Friday night than in bed with a baby curled up to her and a giant nerd’s arm around her shoulders. As much fun as it was going out and causing a lot of fucking trouble, she was perfectly happy in a space she had ever daydreamed about as a little girl. Sitting around and enjoying her own family.

“Morning, Papi,” she mumbled in response. She twisted around to face him. His hair flopped against his forehead. One eye was squeezed shut, still adjusting to the light. A smile sat gracefully upon his full lips. His face was calm. Peaceful. A look that wasn’t too common for him. It was evident from day one that he dealt with some level of anxiety. The fidgeting. The nervous chatter. The randomly flushed face. It wasn’t until he talked of the meltdowns he would have during college after a less than ideal exam score or late at night alone in his childhood bedroom after deciding he wasn’t going to pursue any sort of sport. The quiet tapping and vague muttering seemed to take on a life of its own after that. She would gently place a hand on his shoulder or tell him softly about her day back at Beanies, feeling a great level of ease when a small chuckle would leave him. She trailed a finger along his jaw. “How’d you sleep?”

The other eye slid shut, but the smile remained. “Like a fucking baby,” he sighed happily before pulling her flush against him. Soft kisses pressed all along her face. He had it bad for her from day one. The only thing that ever had her doubletaking was how badly he still had it for her. How hopelessly head over heels he still appeared to be. How he looked at her like she was the only person in any given room. How he touched her like he had never touched before. His hand rested on her cheek to pull her in deeper.

She smiled against his lips. “Don’t get too used to it, motherfucker,” she replied, muffled by another set of kisses. The wording was intended to be subtle enough for him to overlook it, which he did at first. A hand dragged up her back to tangle itself in her hair. An involuntary moan left her throat, hands pressed flat against his chest. If he wasn’t going to pick up on what she was trying to tell him, this was certainly a great alternative to him not grasping her words. His other hand ran down her side, over her hip, and landed on her ass with much gusto. A low chuckle was exhaled into his mouth.

When the kisses suddenly stopped, however, she pulled back to see his now wide-eyed face. A grin played on her lips. “I’m sorry. What?” he spat out, hand still firmly planted on her butt. He looked completely taken off guard. Even though he really shouldn’t have been. This time, they had discussed it at length. It was something they had semi-actively been trying to do. Unlike the first time sitting in that bathroom filled with dread, she had quietly found out by herself with a satisfied smirk on her face and her heart racing like the Energizer Bunny. And then there he was, staring at her with an open mouthed smile growing across his face. “Are you kidding?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would I joke about that?” she questioned. “I’m not fucking joking.”

“Em, it’s not funny…” His words trailed off just as he spoke them. Their eyes met. Brown on blue. Earth meeting the sky. The grand finale of a fireworks display exploded between them. She couldn’t help but smile while he wore a smirk of his own. “I guess I really am…”

“Don’t you fucking say it.”

“A…”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, nerd.”

_“Motherfucker.”_

\--------

Outside the shop, the world was beginning to be cloaked in the warm glow of the setting sun. Paul had taken up the position of hand holder with Eliza and Dani on either side of him. On each third step, he lifted them up just slightly as they jumped in the air giggling. “How was your day?” he wondered with a small grin on his face. He had ditched the tie after work and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. His sleeves appeared to have been rolled up at some point and then rolled back down. He lifted the girls back up again at the next third step.

Emma balanced the third little one on her forearm. A tiny dalmatian with a skirt made of polka dotted tulle. Honey colored hair was tied up in two curly pigtails, one of which was barely staying tied up. “My day was fine,” she replied as a little head laid against her shoulder. Brown eyes had immediately begun to water when she approached the door with her coat in hand. Mama time had arrived, and she was bound to have her little sidekick with her the rest of the night. “I mean, Linda is a…” She debated her words. A brow arched over at her while the girls jumped into the air once more. “Well, she’s Linda and wanted these crazy expensive flowers, but I told her no because it’s not worth it. She tried to talk to me like she knew more, and I shot her down of course. I think I’ve got her, though. It’s not like I have much competition.”

On Fridays, they had gotten into a habit of driving together, alternating weekends for who would drive. Last Friday, they all loaded up into her red Volkswagen and hauled into town. This week it was his little blue Subaru, which was parked behind the building. Groups of people were trotting down the sidewalk in various costumes. Chattering excitedly about the holiday being on a Friday night. She smiled as a small yawn released against her neck. “I’m glad you’re feeling confident there,” he remarked while pulling both girls into a single line in front of and behind him to allow another group to walk comfortably on the sidewalk. Their eyes caught briefly, and her stomach did a flip. Goddamn this man for still making her feel like some nervous schoolgirl with a crush. “Glad the week’s over?”

She sighed heavily. “Hell yeah, I am,” she answered, taking a moment to let her language slip back out despite being in front of the kids. “Zoey can deal with that place for the weekend. Mama needs a _drink.”_ It was an arrangement they had come to sometime after Eliza was born. Zoey had essentially stepped up as an assistant manager of sorts, proving to be a better worker and friend than Emma had ever anticipated. Once she came back to work full tilt, she found herself dreading those long weekend days. She would get home and both girls were already tuckered out for the night. Paul looked as if he had been through a horrendous battle, and all she wanted to do was go straight to bed. It was only when Eliza had taken her first steps while she was cooped up in the shop on a Saturday that she really made the moves to have some days off. So weekends became Zoey’s, which worked out fine because her drinking days were waning down, and she _“couldn’t flirt with the same eight fuckwads from Hatchetfield”_ every Saturday night. She looked at the toddler in her arms, beaming down at the sleepy little face. “Plus, we’ve got the Mama fanclub here that’s really in need of some one on one mom time.”

“Yeah, Dad’s just chopped liver these days I guess,” he teased as he released Eliza’s hand to poke the smallest one’s side. She recoiled with a giggle and a gap-toothed smile. In response, Eliza whined something about wanting to jump more. His attention turned down to her. Emma watched out of the corner of her eye. Something she often did. He was always patient. Quietly taking the time to solve problems with a cool head and a soft smile. “Okay… I’m sorry, E. I know we’re doing the jumping thing, okay?” Seconds later, both girls were in the air once more.

“Listen, don’t beat yourself up too much,” she remarked, rounding the corner on the sidewalk. In the distance. Orange bounced off the windows of his car. “It’s not your fault you can’t be as cool as me.” He rolled his eyes. “You were just born that way. You can’t help it.”

“Yeah, _cool._ Okay,” he snorted, this time letting go of Dani’s hand to fish his keys out of his pocket. While there was a lot about him that hadn’t changed in the years she had known him, there was plenty that had. His comfort level was the most evident. As time went on, he joked around more. He wasn’t as tense. He let loose just a touch more often, though the full on teasing took a lot longer to come through. “One day you aren’t going to be cool anymore. You’re going to be a nerd just like me.”

“Mama isn’t a nerd, Daddy,” Dani argued, butting her way into the conversation. “That’s _you._ ” 

He glanced over at Emma and narrowed his eyes. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Pressing down on one of the buttons on his keyfob, he jabbed the key in her direction. “You’re a bad influence,” he grunted. 

“Maybe I am, but you still like me.” They each took a side of the car and pulled open the back doors. Eliza clambered up into the car and into her booster seat, and Paul followed up by clicking her seatbelt into place. Emma leaned into the car on the opposite side with Dani at her hip, tapping against her side, to place her little buddy into her carseat. “Alright, Nina bean-a.” She worked quickly to tuck little arms underneath straps. “Are you ready for a ride?”

A big toothy grin shined her way. “Nuggets,” Nina chirped in response. “Eat nuggets!”

Emma couldn’t help but return the smile. “Yeah, we’re going home to eat nuggets, little bean,” she replied before backing out of the car to look down at Dani. “Alright, short stuff, you’re up.”

Dani’s hands perched on her hips. “Mama, I’m not short,” she argued as she climbed into her own booster seat. “I’m the tallest one in my class. I’m gonna be taller than you one day. I know it.”

Eyes followed the little hand as it pulled the buckle into place with a confirmation click. “Yeah, maybe,” Emma muttered. “You can thank your father for that one.” She dipped her head in to give one last look at all three girls. “All good, little mama?”

Dani grinned, one of her front teeth missing after falling out earlier that week. She held up one of her thumbs. “All good,” she repeated.

With the confirmation that all was well, Emma pressed the door shut gently in case of any appendages being left in the way. She looked up over the top of the car to find Paul still standing there, just watching her. “What?” she asked with a brow arched. He simply smiled in return. She widened her eyes, a grin of her own peeking out over her lips. _“What?”_

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he told her. “I just like you is all.”

Despite rolling her eyes, she found herself beaming over at him. “You’re a fucking nerd,” she mumbled while leaning against the passenger door. “You know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ nerd.”

\--------

It had just been a routine physical. Paul’s insurance rates stayed down if they both came back with a clean bill of health, so they both usually went toward the end of the year just before his open enrollment period. That was all it was intended to be, though. A regular annual check up with her doctor. All the usual things. Blood test. Weight. Urinalysis. Blood pressure. Nothing was unexpected about what was being done. The only thing that had been a surprise was a very specific result she got. 

She slipped through the front door, kicking her shoes off once it clicked behind her. She left the doctor’s office in a bit of a daze. The after visit summary the receptionist had printed her hung loosely in her hand. On it, there were details of what was discussed and what the follow up plan would be. There wasn’t usually much of a follow up plan when it came to a normal exam. It wasn’t like she had come in with a specific issue in mind. Her head was still spinning, the doctor’s words rolling around along with her buzzing thoughts. 

Music played quietly from the kitchen. It was later than she wanted to get home. Nearly eight PM. It was the only night she could have gotten to the doctor without having to cut out of work. They had two late nights a week, and she just so happened to end up in the latest possible appointment slot. Plus, there was a little extra conversation to be had with the most recent developments. Paul sat at the island with a book in one of his old teambuilding weekend t-shirts. His hair pushed back from his face as he leaned against the counter with one hand raked through his hair, palm resting against his forehead. He had taken out his contacts and put on his glasses at some point that evening. It must have been a long day. Eyes glanced up to meet hers, and he immediately placed the book pages down on the countertop. “Hey,” he greeted. A tired smile stretched across his lips.

She returned a weak one of her own, realizing she felt just about as exhausted as he looked. “Hey,” she responded. More than anything she just wanted to collapse on the stool next to him and crack open a beer to complain about her day, but that was absolutely not going to happen. “Long night?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, furrowing his brows. “Everything go okay today?” Of course he would ask if she was alright. There was no way he wouldn’t. With the distant stare and low energy she was sporting, he absolutely would have been concerned. And that was exactly what read in his eyes: worry. He was usually one to go straight to worrying, so this wasn’t exactly unexpected. The stool twisted beneath him to face her. “Em?” He rose from the chair and strode over to her. Well, maybe it was less striding and more hurrying.

When she was staring up at him, it almost felt like it was just them again. No sleeping kids upstairs. Just the two of them and their cat in their house living their lives. Spending long nights outside by the pond. Laying in bed late at night just talking about nothing. Not worrying about what would happen if one of them lost their job. Who would support the children. What would happen if they ever were to split up. Who would get what. God, she didn’t like to think about it. Tears were pooling in her eyes. What the fuck? She wasn’t even sad. A little surprised and mildly overwhelmed perhaps, but nothing that was going to bring her to tears. “Emma, what’s going on?” His voice was more panicked, pulling her from her daze.

“Nothing,” she replied as a watery laugh. “I don’t even fucking know why I’m fucking crying.” Her eyes scanned over his face. This big stupid nerd was _her_ big stupid nerd. Eyes were narrowed with concern. Hands lifted to her cheeks. She had never been one to feel small and like she needed protecting, but she also never felt smaller than when she was next to him. They were both well aware that she didn’t need protecting from him. If anything, she was going to be the one stepping up to bat, but there was some comfort in being wrapped up in him. “This is fucking dumb.”

His brows stayed knit together as a hesitant smile came over him. Thumbs brushed away the tears that had slipped from her eyes. “But you _are_ crying,” he explained. “What happened today?” A beat passed between them. “You’re not dying, right?” She let out another chuckle, shaking her head. “Okay, well, that’s good… because you’re not allowed to die, so, um, don’t do that.”

“No, I’m not fucking dying. Jesus Christ, Paul,” she shot back at him, leaning into his touch. She never wanted to be someone’s mother. Truthfully, she still didn’t really know what she was doing with the kids she already had. Two girls. Of course it was girls. Her mother would have been in her glory, though, perhaps, there would have been something mended between them had time been able to pass. The image of being walked through the raising of rowdy little girls by Silvia had been clear in her mind the moment they found out Dani was a girl. Silvia was not there, though. She was left there to figure it out herself. She looked up to him, feeling warmth spread over her face like wildfire. Not all by herself. She wasn’t alone. “Guess what, big dick Paul?”

He still had his hands on her cheeks with thumbs mindlessly stroking over her cheekbones. “What?” he hummed back to her.

She pushed up onto her toes to brush her lips up against his. A decade later and kissing him was still a little bit like magic. This was a kind of love that wasn’t supposed to happen to her. It existed in stories and movies and with people better than her. “I got a pretty big surprise today,” she whispered as she lowered herself to the floor. Her hands laid flat against his chest. “And I don’t know if I’m just fertile as _fuck_ or if you’ve got super sperm, but you better get ready for round three, Papi.”

\--------

The TV quietly played a Disney movie. She couldn’t remember what it was. They all sort of seemed the same after a while. Two sleeping forms were sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, blankets draped over them, as the TV glowed and danced against their skin. “Thanks for driving today,” she said quietly, leaning over the countertop of the kitchen island. She took a small sip of an amber liquor that swirled around in the bottom of a lowball glass. “And also for sitting through that movie with us. I _know_ you love a good Disney musical--”

“Listen, I love my daughters, and that is the _only_ reason why I can sit through _Moana,”_ he interjected before taking a swig of red wine out of a stemless wine glass. “I don’t know how people just watch that stuff for fun. Like, grownass adults watch those movies and get obsessed.” She scoffed into her bourbon. “I’m being serious, Emma. There are people who are _our_ age and religiously go to Disney world. And it’s not for their kids either. I swear, it’s because _they_ love it.”

“That’s because none of them have been happy since they were twelve, and they’re just latching onto what’s familiar from that time.” To be fair, though, she hadn’t been happy for a long time and didn’t attach what little glimmers of happiness she recalled from her childhood to Disney. Maybe _Whose Line Is It Anyway_ , but certainly not Disney. “Besides, they could like those weird fucking cartoons with all that loud music and creepy imagery. I think we should count ourselves lucky. I mean, Liza and Dani are four and six, and they just want to cycle between _Tangled_ and _Moana._ It could be worse.”

Shrugging, he took a gulp of his wine. “I guess,” he muttered. He was a good sport. He really didn’t like the sing-songy princess movies, but he sat through each one, laughing and smiling like he did actually like them. In all honesty, he wasn’t really smiling and laughing at the movies. Usually, she would glance over and find him peeking down at whichever girl was curled up into his side, munching on popcorn. “I don’t know. It feels like this is still pretty bad. I’m pretty sure I can recite whole movie scripts, songs included.” His eyebrows raised with emphasis as he spoke. She couldn’t hold back the laugh that squeezed through her lips that had been pressed in a line. “What? Why are you laughing?”

Her eyes fell onto him. He looked about the same as when they first met, albeit more at ease with her. Tall and well built. As she discovered early on, he frequented the gym, which made sense once she was told. Not that it would have mattered too much to her if he went to the gym or not, but she didn’t complain about the strong grip she fell asleep in and woke up to on a daily basis. His face was soft. No sharp angles like her own. Oblong but rounded in its way. Those same big stupid eyes and pillowy fucking lips. Eyes that she loved to get lost in every night. That could carry her away in their depths. Away from anything that was driving her crazy or stressing her out. Lips that she kissed every single day. That sent a feeling of electricity from her head to her toes. A feeling that was unlike anything she could ever truly explain.

“Nothing,” she sighed happily, propping her chin up against her palm. “I just like you.” And she did. Much more than she had ever intended. Even when she had started seriously seeing him, she had never pictured any relationship she had turning into what they had made for themselves. He tilted his head to the side with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Why’re you looking at me like that, nerd?”

Sliding closer to her, he knocked his hip against her, still leaning up against the counter. “I just _love_ you,” he told her, one upping her previous statement. She snorted but eased up against him. It was warm with him. Everything felt a little fuller when he came into her life. She would have been fine without him had they never met. As a person, she was her own. She was whole all by herself. She was strong and fighty and tough. Life would have gone on, but things, she was fairly certain, were just better with him around. To have a friend to love and go through life with was something she didn’t know she wanted until it landed in her lap. “The _latte hottay.”_

“Oh god,” she groaned, though the smile didn’t waver from her lips. She pushed off the counter and away from him. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

She could hear the pad of his footsteps behind her as she scooted around the kitchen. “My wife!” he yammered in a terrible Borat impression. It was stupid, mostly because it was a Ted joke, but at some point, he found himself taken with the joke. It came out to play at least once a month. What she wouldn’t tell him was that she had grown quietly fond of it as time went on.

“That’s it. We’re getting a divorce. I’m divorcing you,” she shot back, glancing over her shoulder to find him gaining on her. She picked up her pace. “Stay away from me. I don’t care if Kazakhstan is the number one exporter of potassium and if all other fucking countries have inferior postas _sium!”_ Her voice went up into a shriek as his arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her up off the ground. “Put me the _fuck_ down, nerd!”

“You better be quiet. You’re going to wake up the kids,” he chided while placing her down on the countertop. He slid in front of her, finding a place between her knees. “I don’t think I could go through another round of princess movies, Emma. If anything, do it for me. Please.”

She arched a brow. Arms snaked around the back of his neck, pulling his face close to hers. “What’s in it for me?” she wondered. His breath was warm and tickled her face. The spice and sweetness of his wine swirled around her, stirring up her senses. She could feel the pink rising to her cheeks, though she wasn’t fully sure if it was because of him or the booze. Maybe it was both.

“Well,” he hummed, looking up and away from her. “I figured we could haul the girls up to bed, and _then_ we might make out a little and be asleep by ten.”

“Ugh,” she moaned, throwing her head back with a smile on her face. “Fucking _hot,_ Matthews. You know how to get a girl going.”

“Oh yeah,” he snickered. “A little tongue. A little over the clothes action. We’re getting it _all_ tonight, baby.”

“Escándalo,” she chuckled. “Papi, the kids are in the other room. You can’t be getting me all hot and fucking bothered like this.”

His mouth opened to respond, but promptly snapped shut. Eyes fell onto her. One of his hands laid out flat against her back. The other came up to brush a stray curl that had come loose from her messy bun away from her face. “I really do love you, Em,” he reiterated. 

And he did. That was something she never doubted. Even when she felt like things were likely to not last in the long run or when she just wanted to turn and leave, she never second guessed the fact that he loved her. Once she was willing to admit it, she never worried about loving him. It was as easy and natural as taking a breath. She traced a finger along the back of his neck before giving him a soft chaste kiss. “I love you, too,” she said. A love that she hadn’t anticipated or wanted had brought such joy to her life. It gave her a home she never imagined. A family that hadn’t ever been in the cards for her. “But maybe we can get a little under the clothes tonight? Just a thought.”

He knocked his forehead against hers. “Now that’s just crazy,” he laughed. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. A shiver ran down her spine. “But I think I could get down with that.”

There had been a number of relationships that had come and gone out of her life. Little flings flitting about from town to town as she was unwilling to settle in anywhere. Settling down was something only people in the outskirts of her life had wanted for her. It was only after they were all gone that she finally found a soft place to land, and that place was where she least expected it. With some dumb little paperboy in a town she always thought she hated. Their lips met, tender but deep. Something in any kiss with him seemed to span lifetimes and universes. Like this was one of millions of kisses they had shared under different stars. She smiled. “Oh hell yeah,” she murmured into his mouth. “Under the shirt. Over the bra. Just fuck me up, Daddy.”

He broke away from her to stare down with his face pinched in disgust. “You’re fucking _gross,”_ he groaned but still dipped in to kiss her again through the laughter that erupted between them.

As he pulled her close to him, her heart hammered in her chest. Not with nervousness but excitement. This was the place she always wanted to be even if she hadn’t known it before. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she smiled against his mouth. 

It was her place. 

It was _their_ place. 

A place she wanted to be. 

A place where she belonged.

And god, did she never want to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and chugging through this bad boy with me! I hope you've all enjoyed as it's been so much fun to write. I love making these dumb nerds happy.
> 
> A little side note: each of the chapter names come from song lyrics because initially this lil guy was going to be a song fic but clearly that changed, so in case anyone was interested here's that list.
> 
> 1\. Teardrops by Massive Attack  
> 2\. Wildflowers by Tom Petty  
> 3\. The Moon Song by Karen O  
> 4\. Better Love by Hozier  
> 5\. D.O.A. by Bloodrock  
> 6\. Never Going Back Again by Fleetwood Mac  
> 7\. Last First Kiss by Ron Pope  
> 8\. You Make My Dreams Come True by Hall & Oates  
> 9\. Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers  
> 10\. I Love How You Love Me by Camera Obscura (this is a cover)  
> 11\. I Will by the Beatles  
> 12\. Ghosts by Laura Marling  
> 13\. How Sweet It Is by James Taylor  
> 14\. Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson  
> 15\. This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) by The Talking Heads (also where the title of the story came from)
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading. :'D <3
> 
> (I've got more things planned that are coming down the pike, so stay tuned ;) )


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